Dragon's Bait
by smart-blonde-the-oxymoron
Summary: What's a poor girl to do? Accused of witchcraft and left as dragon's bait at the stake... nowhere to turn to and no one to turn to. Well. In that case, hurling rocks at Smaug the Stupendous to get him to eat you and end your misery seems like a BRILLIANT idea, right? Right! Smaug x OC
1. Be the Bait

**I was in a mood. Yes. That's the best explanation as to how this was born. Not that I'm not fond of said mood… But anyways. Here's something new! I really loved the new Hobbit movie (a lot more than the first one) and, of course, BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH. Those six syllables have ruined my life, but I don't particularly mind…**

**The basic idea (or at least the first chapter) is based off a book called ****_Dragon's Bait_**** that I read when I was younger and still love to this day. **

**PS. I can see people storming the reviews section with comments on how Bard's wife is dead, and therefore Arya offhandedly thinking of her pregnant state would be awfully strange and stupid (on my end). That was put there to show the timeframe of the story (aka. At least a few years before the movie-canon would begin.) ALSO. I'll admit, I've yet to read any of the books, so I'm going pretty much all off the movies, so feel free to correct any canonical mistakes I make! Thank you!**

**Anyways! Enjoy!**

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Dragon's Bait  
Chapter 1—Be the Bait

'Witchcraft' was just one of those words.

No matter how much magic coursed through Middle-Earth, no matter how many wizards appeared in pubs to blow sweet smelling smoke rings in the faces of those taking shelter there, or how many prophecies or elves or shape shifters there were, people _still _shuddered when 'witchcraft' was mentioned. Arya was able to understand that to an extent. The idea of a cackling, unseemly, old woman brewing potions and placing people under curses was a bit more unsettling than a wise, long bearded man parading through Middle-Earth with a staff… but the discrimination against witches still seemed a bit unfair.

Particularly if said person accused of being a witch, was, you know, _not a witch_.

Arya tugged halfheartedly at the ropes binding her wrists to the wooden pole. She'd been squirming around in hopes of escape for the better part of a day now, and all that'd gotten her was a set of matching cuts across each wrist and enough scratches to make any kind of movement uncomfortable. She shivered in the cold. The black of night was unnerving on its own, let alone when one was tied to a pole with naught but internal fury for warmth.

How she wished she was back at home… so that she could strangle the people who'd left her here.

Arya was not a witch! She had no powers, no special skills, and no more than thirty pence to her name. If she _had _been a witch, wouldn't she have—_oh, who knows?—_been able to escape her bindings? Or perhaps smote her accusers? Just a thought.

She'd argued vehemently for her freedom at the trial… if one could have called it that. She'd practically been pronounced guilty the moment she trudged into the room. The Master of Esgaroth was worried of upheaval in the Lake-Town, and what better way to unite the people than to give them a common enemy?

_There's a witch among you!  
A witch who spoils your food and dirties your drinking water!  
A witch who spreads sickness and death to your loved ones!  
A witch who wears holes in your clothes and make grime adhere to the floors of your homes!_

Arya hadn't been a 'trouble maker' per se—not to the extent that Bard had been at least. (Offhandedly, she wondered how his wife was doing. Arya assumed pregnancy kind of sucked…) Arya hadn't been known for thievery or acting as the heroic daredevil, but she had been somewhat known for her ungracious attitude and for the one time she'd shoved a boy named Grendy into the water for pulling her hair. Apparently, that more than qualified her as a person of interest.

The Master had planted a seed in the people's minds, and—as unfertile of an environment as it may have been—an idea began to sprout.

Suddenly, people would send her slant eyed glares from across the docks. Conversations faded into hushed whispers when she passed and the snippets she managed to hear were always unpleasant.

_Do you really think she could be the witch?  
Just look at her!  
Do you see her eyes?  
Do you see_ her?!  
_There's no doubt in my mind.  
Silver eyes—witch eyes!_

That was when Arya had begun to feel a bit unnerved. She really wasn't all that abnormal looking… at least, _she_ didn't think so. But people saw what they wanted to see. Suddenly, plain, grey eyes glowed silver like the moon and dirty, auburn hair shone like crimson hell fire. She hadn't become sick with typhus, so _obviously_ she had cast a spell to ward it off. Neither she nor her family were completely emaciated, so she had _clearly_ sold her soul to keep her pantry full. The buckles on her boots held a bit of shine—it was blatant she'd never bothered to _clean_ them, but instead used black magic to keep her shoes looking new.

In short, there was nothing she could have done to escape conviction. It was somehow both depressing and refreshing to know that.

Determining what her sentence ought to be had been the only interesting part of the trial. Should she be weighted down and sunk to the bottom of the lake, or should a more traditional route be taken, in which she would be taken to land and burned at the stake…? Then there was the issue of the dragon slumbering in the Lonely Mountain. Would the stench of burnt witch irritate his nose and awaken him? If a source of magic was destroyed, would he be able to sense it? If that was the case, should Arya have been abandoned to die in the Mirkwood? Or left to the mercy of what or whomever passed her first? _So many choices_…

The Master of Lake-Town, ever the suave and composed party, had held up one bejeweled hand and announced, _"I have an idea that I believe will satisfy everyone."_

It was decided.

_The witch was to be offered up as dragon's bait. If the great dragon Smaug should appear (as the people feared), perhaps Arya would satiate his hunger. If not, she would simply end up dead one way or another—starvation, illness, the cold…_

Arya shuddered, half from the chill, half from the unpleasant memory of first hearing her death sentence.

Once again, she tugged at her bindings. When it did nothing more than further irritate her raw wrists, she groaned and slid dejectedly to the ground. She let her hair fall in front of her eyes with a sigh. Maybe she should just call it quits for the night and go to sleep. Perhaps she'd somehow _not_ die from the cold and then she could try to free herself again tomorrow morning—

The sky hanging over the Lonely Mountain came alive with brilliant, golden, flames. There was no accompanying roar, though Arya supposed that wasn't quite necessary. The point had been made, and made well. Whoever lived in that mountain was not someone (or something) to be trifled with. Grey eyes widened in terror.

_Was the dragon alive? _

A black mass appeared from the smoke and hurtled into the night sky.

_Yes. Yes it was._

So much for waiting until morning to work her way out of the ropes.

With that, the struggle began once more. The ropes may have been shoddy quality, but they were thick enough to prevent her from breaking loose. She didn't have a knife stowed away in some secret pocket, she didn't have any special power or quality that could save her from the dragon's fiery jaws…

_Think, Arya, think!_

She pulled and fought and struggled until her muscles ached and gave way to exhaustion. Arya fell forward with a thud, knees buried in cold mud. It was hopeless. She would die here. The dragon would use her bones to pick his teeth or she'd turn into a human Popsicle. There was no hope for her. She was going to pass away in this damn mud pit—

Her head shot up, eyes sparking with realization.

_Mud pit. _

Arya dug the heels of her boots into the gooey earth, kicking and digging her toes into the muck that had accumulated at the base of her makeshift prison. She forced herself to stand as straight and tall as she could, and took in a shaky breath through clenched teeth before once again beginning to tug. She raised her arms as high as the ropes would allow and pulled. And pulled. And pulled.

The mud beneath her feet seemed to slurp and gurgle as it slowly released the wooden stake from its goopy hold. Gradually, it became easier to raise her shoulders and the end of the pole broke free from the brown sludge. The rope slackened and she couldn't help but let out a giggle of triumph. Cumbersome as it would be to drag a six foot stake around, it was much more pleasant than being rooted to the ground like an animal caught in a trap.

Cautiously, she lowered herself to the ground so that the pole and her bound hands were resting limp in the damp dirt. From there, she rose into a crouch and scooted backwards and through the small loop her arms had created. Now that her hands were in front of her rather than strung up behind her, she could work on unknotting the rope and… and…

She paused, fingers buried in the coarse bindings.

_And then what?_

As the rope fell from her aching wrists, so did her celebratory grin.

Where would she run to?

Home? No. She couldn't go back to Laketown—not with her parents still residing on the floating mass of decaying wood… They'd try to help her, and then they'd be caught, and then they'd be killed. That was how things like this worked. Besides, it wasn't like she had any way to get _back _there.

The lake separated her from any and all other places of refuge. And even if she somehow managed to reach another town, how would she survive? She had no trade, no money…

There was still Dale she supposed. She _could_ head that way… But that was only prolonging the inevitable.

Arya stood, shaking from cold and fear. She tilted her head towards the star splattered sky and could see the dragon circling lazily overhead—no doubt searching for his next meal. There was no way he hadn't seen her by now. She was in the center of an empty field for heaven's sake! She was practically being served to him on an unattractive and muddy platter! Unless… he thought she was too _boring_ of a meal.

Carefully, she crouched back down and reached into the muck—searching. A few minutes later, she pulled back, successful, with a large, round, rock in hand. Arya weighed the stone in her palms, letting it roll heavily back and forth between both her hands. It had weight, no doubt, though not so much so that it would plummet straight to the ground the second it was thrown.

Smaug was closer now—close enough that she could see just how large and menacing the beast was, and she _knew_ this was a _very_ bad idea.

How would it kill her? She'd heard tales of the dragons of old demanding they be brought fair maidens to eat. Arya wasn't exactly _fair_, but she _was_ a maiden the last time she checked… Was it for the flavor? Did young ladies just _taste_ better somehow? Alright. Okay. So the dragon would eat her. That was established. But… would it start to eat her right away, while she was still breathing and screaming and knowing that _oh gods she was going to die_, or would it kill her first? Perhaps with its massive claws, or maybe by biting off—

She shook her head.

This wasn't helping. She just… needed to get it over with. It was either a quick death by dragon or a tortuously drawn out one…

Arya clenched her eyes shut and, seeing as her hands were occupied with the stone, crossed her toes for luck.

_Dear whatever powers there are out there,  
Please let him just swallow me whole.  
Sincerely, Arya._

_P.S. Let me die before the digestion process begins. Thanks.  
_

"Hey! You! Smaug the Stupid!" she screeched at the top of her lungs. "Come and get me!"

She flung the rock with all her might, but her poor muscles, practically dead from the cold and all the strain that'd already been placed on them from her valiant escape attempts, rebelled. The stone arced and plummeted back to the ground with a gentle _thud_, far short of Smaug. Still, her screaming must have been loud enough to attract his attention and the dragon wheeled gracefully and glided toward her.

As he grew closer, Arya felt her bravado begin to fade. Rapidly.

_This… may have been the wrong choice._

She scrunched her eyes shut, bracing herself for a fiery doom.

She felt the wind of his wings as he settled onto the ground. Arya stayed stiff, prepared for the worst, but… She cracked one eye open the tiniest bit. She was expecting something along the lines of a torrent of flames, but instead…

_Oh look. She didn't even reach the knees of his front legs. How nice._

She gulped and, mustering up every last smidgen of courage left within her, tilted her head back, and back, and back, in an attempt to look him in the eyes (a failed attempt, seeing as she could not _see _his eyes as they were so far above her, but a valiant attempt none the less). Smaug towered over her, red scales shining in the moonlight. Her nostrils were flooded with the scent of smoke and copper and… _dragon,_ she assumed. She had no other word for it.

Exasperated, she flung her arms out to the side. "Well? Eat me!"

There was no response.

With a frustrated growl, Arya stepped closer. "Can't you hear me?! I _said_, EAT. ME." She punctuated the demand with a solid kick to the dragon's clawed foot. It left her toes stinging and her brain rebelling about how could she be so _stupid_, but at least now it was certain that she—

"It is not very often that I find a _human_ flinging pebbles at me."

His voice was like thunder, reverberating throughout her entire frame. She shuddered.

"Uhm… I see?"

"Is that yours?"

Arya glanced over to the wooden stake that lay alone on the muddy ground. She nodded. Smaug lowered his monstrous head so he could sneer at her. His golden eye was larger than her entire head.

"You had a chance to flee."

"…I didn't think you saw me."

"Of course I saw you, vermin," he hissed. "Do you believe me to be so pathetic? I simply was not interested in a meager snack like yourself until you acted _out of the ordinary_."

"A girl staked in a field outside of a deserted city is _ordinary_?"

He ignored her comment. "Why didn't you flee?"

"That's not really important," Arya frowned. "Now, if you would just eat me and get it over with already—"

"I suggest you _answer_ me, vermin. Old and wise as I may be, I am not quite so _patient_."

She swallowed heavily. "You… You said you saw me all along. So what would've been the point?"

"_Why didn't you run?_"

"To where?!" she snapped. "Oh, let's head to the town the dragon destroyed! Or, _I know_, let's swim across the lake back to the town that staked you out here in the first place for… for witchcraft!"

This seemed to pique his interest a bit. "So you are a little witch then?"

"No!"

The eye that was visible to her narrowed. "Hmm… How dull."

"Yes, yes. I'm perfectly aware of how boring I am. So just EAT ME."

Smaug pulled his head back, choosing instead to glare down at her. A smirk twisted his scaled lips. "And why, pray tell, should I do that, little oaf?"

Arya opened her mouth to protest but hesitated. _Was she _really_ about to argue about all the reasons a dragon should kill her?_ She'd been so certain heading into this. She would let the dragon kill her and that would be the end of it… But this was turning out to be a heck of a lot more than she'd bargained for. She peered up at him cautiously.

"So…. You're _not_ going to kill me?"

"Oh, I don't recall saying _that_, little oaf," he mocked, twisting his serpentine neck back down to stare at her.

"I see…" Arya carefully began to inch backwards—her suicidal aspirations squashed for the moment. "So what are you going to do with me?"

There was a small patch of woods nearby. The trees looked thick and close together. Perhaps he wouldn't be able to reach her if she… she… _Oh, who was she kidding?_ He could just cough up a fireball or sit on the trees and crush them… Screw it. She was just going to book it as fast as she could. Maybe then he'd...

Without bothering to think or look where she was headed, she turned and sprinted. Not seconds later, she was knocked flat on her stomach—face pressed into the mud. She coughed, spitting chunks of dirt from her mouth. The gigantic, clawed, foot, pressed into her back pushed her further into the ground.

"Now, now. Running is a _very_ _bad_ idea, little oaf."

"And throwing rocks at a dragon isn't?"

Smaug growled. The low grumble was like thunder and it made her shake beneath his claws.

"Do you enjoy life, little oaf?"

"On occasion."

"I must say that in all my glory, I have become… quite bored. My hoard and all its splendor is still naught but gold, and after dozens of years, it seems to provide very little entertainment other than simple visual pleasure. So tell me, little oaf, what do you humans do to eliminate your boredom, hmm?" Smaug hummed. Arya stayed silent, not sure how to answer. Smaug's claws gripped her more tightly and she felt a rush of wind as he stretched his wings, pumping them a few times to relieve some of the stiffness in them. "I was thinking of adopting a _pet._"

Her eyes widened in horror as he pushed off the ground and into the chilly, night air.

_Shit._

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**So. Should I continue or not…?**

**I would like to, but if it seems absolutely horrid, I'd like to know so I can revise it first. Hopefully I'll be updating soon :D**


	2. Be the Pet

**30 plus reviews on the first chapter? You're all very lovely. And I'm glad people find my writing funny. Nice to know it's not just cheesy sounding o.o I'm honestly super excited for this story. I have the whole plot planned out (unless I wind up completely changing it half way through like the moron I am) so hopefully it'll move along smoothly. **

**PenNameNine: I'm glad someone noticed the reference! Game of Thrones is literally one of the greatest things of ALL TIME. Can't wait for season 4. **

**Dragon-Queen001: Hmm... I don't remember exactly how big his eye was in comparison to Bilbo, but I think making Arya's height the same as his eye would be a bit daunting. For example, the human eye is about 24 mm. Say Arya is 168 cm/1680 mm (about five and a half feet tall). That makes the eye about 70 times smaller than her height. If the same principal applied to Smaug-his eye being the same as her height (168 cm)—then Smaug would be 11,760 cm or 385 feet tall. That would make him the size of a 30 story building! The average skyscraper is 20 plus stories, so that would mean he'd have to be GINORMOUS. **

**Enjoy :)**

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Dragon's Bait  
Chapter 2—Be the Pet

The grip around her body loosened and the ground rushed up to meet her far too quickly.

With a groan, Arya slowly forced herself onto her scraped knees and rubbed at her sore sides. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Smaug landed on the smooth ground far more gracefully than she figured something so utterly gigantic should be able to. He ruffled his wings, as if working out some kinks, before turning the other way and heading into a large chamber.

Arya stared after him, mouth agape. _That was it? He was going to scoop her up out of a barren field and _leave her _there?_

She tilted her head back, frizzy, mud coated hair falling away from her eyes. She stared up at what she assumed was the only way in or out of this mountain. The hole was gigantic—obviously made by Smaug himself as an easy yet effective way to enter and exit while making it near impossible for any other form of life to get into—or get out of—his home. She could see the stars. The tiny pinpricks of light seemed so far away, so much farther than normal…

"_Are you coming, little oaf?"_

Arya glared spitefully at the dark chamber from which the dragon called to her.

There was a snowball's chance in Hell that she was going to bow to any whim of _his._

So she sat stubbornly beneath the gaping hole in the Lonely Mountain, arms wrapped tightly around her knees as she stared up at the night sky. It was so quiet here, and a little lonely. It was so dark. And so cold... She rubbed at the goose bumps on her arms, fighting a wave of shivers. Arya wasn't quite sure how much time she spent sitting there in silence, but it was long enough that her fingers had long since gone numb and the rest of her couldn't seem to stop shaking. Grey eyes flickered to the chamber. Smaug had yet to call for her again. She wondered what was in there… She wondered if it was any warmer…

With a depleted sigh, she forced herself to her feet and trudged towards the dark room that seemed to have swallowed the fire breather whole.

The chamber led into an enormous, intricately built hall. Her footsteps echoed noisily as she walked across the stone floor. Arya squinted into the shadows, trying to see to the end of the corridor. The hall seemed to be bathed endlessly in shadow, but…

_There was a light somewhere down there. _

Frigid and inquisitive, Arya headed towards it, knowing all too well that she was on her way back to Smaug.

Though Arya had never much been one for giving into the whims of others, she was aware that even defiance had its limits. She could remain headstrong and curl up in the icy room that the dragon had left her in (and in all likelihood freeze to death),_ or_ she could sacrifice a bit of pride in exchange for some much desired warmth. In the end, the choice was all too easy.

In time, her half-frozen limbs managed to carry her to the end of the hall. It seemed to end abruptly—the passageway breaking off into a spacious room that she was sure could fit all of Esgaroth. She couldn't see more than what lay directly ahead of her, but there _was_ a staircase close by which in all likelihood indicated that the cavern was as deep as it was wide. She glanced up at to the light source overhead. A large, ornate, and jewel encrusted chandelier hung from the ceiling. Its fire bathed the area beneath it with a pleasant glow. Carefully, she stepped forward to the edge of the stairs and into the light.

Immediately, her jaw dropped and her vision was flooded with a sea of sparkling gold.

Piles as large as great hills—as large as _mountains_—covered every inch of the chamber floor. Gold, and silver, and diamonds, and sapphires, and just about every other precious gem she knew of (_and more_) shimmered beneath her like some kind of grand ocean.

And there was Smaug, stretched out across the mounds of sparkling treasure.

Now, Arya hadn't been the poorest person back in Esgaroth… though she'd never been the richest either. She'd witnessed glimpses of gold and fine gems on occasion back in Lake Town—mostly dawned by the Master—so it wasn't as if she'd never _seen_ treasure before. But she supposed even if she _had _lived a life of luxury, the dragon's hoard would still have made her jaw drop.

When she had at last made her way to the bottom of the stairs, Smaug spoke.

"Joining me at last I see."

Her mouth snapped shut and she did her best not to look too much in awe. The last thing she needed was the dragon thinking that his spoils had impressed her. Smaug lumbered forward, tail dragging through the gold and carving trails like tiny rivers. He lowered his head to frown at her.

"You kept me waiting far longer than I'd originally anticipated. Stubbornness is an unattractive trait for a pet to have. I will have to work on weeding it out of you."

"I'm not stubborn…"

Smaug snorted but said no more, choosing instead to lower his head to rest amongst his gold and jewels. When it became apparent that he wasn't planning on holding any kind of conversation, Arya decided it would be best to make herself comfortable.

She avoided the gold as much as possible—a bit worried how Smaug would respond if her filthy self trampled all over it. So instead, Arya took up residence against one of the pillars. Even if her new pillow was made of stone, it was still pretty comfortable. And it was certainly much warmer than back by that gaping hole. She glanced up at where Smaug lay and wondered if the heat was because of him. She hadn't really been paying attention to whether or not he was toasty warm when he'd scooped her up in his talons, but she didn't doubt the pleasant temperature had _something_ to do with the dragon. He did have fire brewing in his gut after all.

"What am I supposed to do here?" She asked finally.

He didn't even bother to open his eyes to respond. "Whatever it is pets _do_."

"Care to be a bit more specific?"

Her questions seemed to irritate him, and he rolled over onto his side to face away from her. Coins and jewels tumbled down around him to pool at the bottom of his makeshift bed as he did so, but he didn't seem to notice or care. He sighed heavily and she could smell his breath from where she sat.

"I will provide you with food and water and you will provide me with entertainment."

"_Entertainment_?" Arya frowned. "Like what?"

"That is your task to figure out, little oaf."

_Of course it is, _she scowled._ You couldn't make anything easy on me, could you? Is that a dragon thing, or are you an ass even among _them_?_

Smaug let out a particularly loud huff that sent smoke billowing up from his nostrils, almost as if her even _thinking_ to herself was something that annoyed him. Arya groaned and leaned back against the pillar to stare back up at the chandelier. She found herself once again wishing that he'd eat her and get it over with. For a moment, she debated snatching up some of his gold and hurling it at him to irk him, but fatigue whispered that she could always do it tomorrow when she was awake enough to run faster, so she drifted off into a hazy sleep.

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Days passed in silence. Or… at the very least, Arya _assumed_ it was days.

Every now and again, Smaug would shake himself awake like some gigantic cat and fly off to Gods knew where. Arya could care less what the dragon did in his personal time, but he always returned with some kind of food or other… which was pretty nice.

The first occasion he brought her a deer—well-done and crispy from resting within his inferno like mouth. Next came a bird, though she wasn't exactly sure what kind. It'd been alive when it was dropped in front of her, almost as if he'd only stuck his head up through that giant hole of his and snatched up whatever flew by first, _the lazy lizard_. She'd stared into the fowl's beady eyes for only a moment or two before Smaug spat a small ball of fire and roasted it right then and there. Not the most charming of dinner preparations she'd admit, but it had certainly smelled good. He brought back trees and bushes filled with fruit, fish, more deer, and the occasional rabbit. The fruit kept her decently hydrated and the meat more than filled her stomach. In truth, she ate better as a pet than she did as a person back in Lake Town.

She spent her time napping and eating—occasionally heading to an ancient washroom Smaug had first shown to her when he claimed her odor had become too obnoxious for even him to put up with. At most, she would rise to walk laps around the piles of gold in order to stretch her legs, or sometimes she even attempted to braid her hair. Once, on one of her strolls amongst the gold, she'd found a tiny mouse near a large crack in the wall big enough that even she could probably squeeze inside of it. She'd carried it back to her pillar, intending to keep it as her own pet. Of course, Smaug stepped on the thing when he rose from his sleep. So that had been the end of that miny adventure.

All in all, being a dragon's pet was _boring_.

The two of them hardly talked to one another or even acknowledged the other's presence. Arya constantly wondered what the purpose was of him having a 'pet' at all. If anything, this arrangement was more to her benefit than anything else. She had gained some much needed weight and she was always warm and refreshed rather than miserably exhausted and cold. Sure, she was nearly driven out of her mind with boredom on a few occasions, but for the most part life as a pet was much better than life in Esgaroth.

One morning (or what she called morning at least. She had no idea what time it was, only that she'd woken up), she opened her grey eyes to find the dragon staring at her from where he lay across the room. She stood and stretched with an obnoxious yawn. When she turned back to him and noticed that his own eyes were still fixed upon her, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"What is it?"

"I am thinking, little oaf."

"Well, what are you thinking about?"

"_What do you use every single day, but never pay for? What is truly yours, but came from somewhere else? What is very personal but shared with everyone_?"

She sighed in frustration. "Can't you just tell me?"

There was no reply. Arya's brow furrowed in thought as she played the riddle over in her head. After a few minutes, she looked back up at the dragon. "A… name? What would you need to think up a name for?"

Smaug hummed low in his throat and shifted atop his hoard. A few of golden coins slid down the mountain of riches and tinkled lightly against the cold floor. "As I am aware, when humans take on a new pet, they bestow it with a title of their liking. Normally, I believe they do so immediately upon receiving the pet, but I suppose it is better to do so late than never."

Arya winced. "But you're no human."

"But you _are_ my pet, little oaf." He paused, tilting his head as he pondered. "What should I call you, I wonder...?"

"I have a name," she frowned, "and it's not oaf, or pest, or witch, and it's certainly not whatever kind of verbal concoction _you_ come up with. My_ name _is _Ary_a, and I like that just fine."

With an indignant huff, she turned her back on the scaled beast and plopped back down to the ground with a huff.

She full heartedly expected him to snarl at her and spit fire, but instead, Smaug simply lowered his great head so it rested atop the pile of gold closest to her. The one, gigantic, reptilian eye that she could see narrowed at her in annoyance.

"Why are you so attached to it? _Your name_. It seems like something stupidly trivial to become so defensive over."

"My name is something my parents' gave to me. It means 'noble'…" She trailed off for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know. What are you expecting me to say? Everyone gets attached to their name in one way or another. How would you feel if suddenly people decided to rename you something else, and you were no longer 'Smaug the Stupendous,' but 'Baggo the Blathering' or something like that?"

He lifted his head with a snort and ruffled his wings. "I care not for what 'people' say or think. They are all beneath me."

She rolled her eyes. "Right. How could I forget?"

He made no snide comment in reply, so she assumed he was back to his usual silent self. She ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to neaten it before she began her usual process of braiding and unbraiding and braiding and unbraiding… Perhaps she would keep the messy 'braid' this time—change things up a bit.

"_I think I will name you Hecate."_

She swiveled to face him.

"Excuse me?"

"_Hecate,_" he repeated. "Do you have a hearing problem, little oaf, or are you simply more mentally incapable than I had originally assumed?"

Her mouth fell open and her eyes sparked with anger. "Did you really not listen to a _word_ I—"

He snorted, waving off her objections with a clawed foot. "Whether I listened or not is inconsequential, because your opinion matters little either way."

Arya scowled, teeth grinding together in frustration. "_Fine._ It doesn't matter. Call we what you like, but I will _never_ answer."

Smaug lowered his enormous head to growl in her face. His breath was hot and acrid and it tussled her hair. The dragon's glower was petrifying, but Arya forced herself to glare right back.

"My name," she seethed, "is _Arya._"

"I recall mentioning that I needed to do something about that bullheadedness of yours..." He drew back, head rising high into the air so he could sneer down at her and spiked tail whipping back and forth in agitation. "Perhaps now would be the best time to do so." He grinned down at her, pointed fangs glimmering in the dim light. "I wonder how quickly you'll _break_."

Instantly, her bravado and anger were drowned by panic. Death… death was okay. Whatever he had planned certainly didn't seem like death. No. _It seemed so much worse_. This whole 'being tied out to a stake as dragon's bait and then taken as a pet' situation had long since forced her to accept the fact that like every other living thing, she would eventually meet her end in some way or other. Dying was unavoidable.

He circled her like a beast hunting its prey, face shadowed and golden eyes glinting maliciously. She swallowed thickly, hands trembling at her sides.

Dying was a certainty… But she would never allow herself to be _broken_. That was thousands of times worse than any physical grievance he could cause her.

Smaug's voice echoed around her. The deep, far-too-loud, rumble of it shook the ground and made her ears ache.

"You have to nowhere to run to, little _Hecate._"

That was true…

"You have nothing to save you."

That was true…

"You have nowhere to hide."

That was tr—

Grey eyes lit with hope.

Images of a fuzzy mouse and a fissure in the wall flitted through her mind. _Nowhere to hide? Nowhere to hide, _indeed.

So she ran. She ran, and she hid. She squeezed herself so far into that crack that she was a tad bit worried she'd never manage to get herself out of it. It extended much farther into the wall than she'd originally thought, but she wouldn't complain. The further she could get from Smaug, the better.

At first, there was silence, as if he was confused. Then, he snarled. The walls around her shook as he rammed them and her head rang with his roar.

"You will come out of there _now."_

"_Make me, lizard breath_."

In a strange way, the claustrophobia of her hideaway was kind of nice. The past few days had been spent entirely in the cavernous chamber that housed Smaug's hoard. All that space was intimidating and lonely. In here, she was still surrounded by darkness, but at least it wasn't emptiness. She cuddled into the scratchy wall and wrapped her arms around herself. Even though she was distanced from the dragon and his eternal heat, it was actually rather toasty.

Smaug seemed to realize that intimidation wasn't something that would work and instead tried to coax her out. His voice was deep and melodic—so smooth Arya could almost feel herself floating away with it. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. _Stupid dragons with their stupid magic. _

"It must be uncomfortable in there."

"Not at all, actually," she shot back. Her voice echoed around the enclosed space. "I appreciate your concern, but I'd appreciate it even _more_ if you let me alone. I don't really much like being _threatened._ Do _you_ enjoy being threatened, Baggo the Blathering?"

She heard him growl.

"You will need to eat at some point."

"Nope."

"And drink."

"Nope."

"Do you plan on relieving yourself in there as well?"

"Sure."

"You will starve and wallow in your own filth to disobey me? You're quite the moronic pet, _little oaf_."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Come out _now!"_

"No!"

Smaug roared with a force so powerful and frightening it seemed to shake the very foundation of the mountain. His enormous frame occasionally blocked out the teensy bit of light that managed to filter through the crack as he paced back and forth not fifteen yards away. His claws raked against the stone with a horrific screech and his fire singed the walls as he wailed in rage. It was enough to make any mortal soil their trousers in terror—or at the very least send them into a fit of tears.

But Arya simply made herself comfortable against the stone and relaxed, content and cozy in her crack in the wall.

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**Like with 'Fee Fye Foe Fum,' I think I'm going to try and get out at least a chapter a week—an update every Saturday sound good? Personally, I'd rather do this than pump out chapters as quickly as possible. Quality over quantity, right? **

**Anywho, hope everyone enjoyed. See you all next Saturday :D**


	3. Be the Compromiser

**Happy Saturday! Again, thank you to everyone who reviewed. This chapter's not much shorter than the others, but this week was midterms and I've been working on my dad's birthday present, so that ****_did_**** take a bit of a toll on the amount of time I was able to spend writing. **

**_So many questions_**** O.o**

**tinkerbell265: I have a rough idea for how long the entire story will be, but I haven't really looked at it on a chapter by chapter basis. I don't want to just put a random number on it because I'm not quite sure how long each section I have planned out will take. It could be anywhere from fifteen to forty chapters. It all just depends on how much I write. **

**Wommera: I chose it because I figured that Smaug would in all likelihood pick a name to mock her. Hecate is goddess of the witches and is basically the leader of them in Macbeth, and Arya landed where she is all thanks to everyone accusing her of being a witch. So I figured it would be kind of ironic, in a cruel sort of way. **

**Captain Riley: Don't worry. The 'M' rating is just to be safe. And I chose it more for violence and language than for sexual themes. I really hate when characters go OOC in fanfiction, so I'll try my hardest to keep him as in character as possible :)**

**turtle-sloth-gal: Sadly no connection to Homestuck. I never got around to reading it and people just nagged me about it so much that I completely lost interest in starting it. And thank you! I'm glad you like my writing. All my teachers have led me to believe it's horrendous o.o**

**Onesmartcookie78: I really love 'Great Minds' too, but at the moment (and for the past many months), I've been stuck in a rut with it. I know where I want to go and what I want to happen, but I have no idea how to get there without writing a garbled mess of ****_bleck._**** So if I ever figure it out, I'll continue. But at the moment, the chances of that unfortunately seem pretty dismal. Sorry :(**

**Enjoy!**

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Dragon's Bait  
Chapter 3—Be the Compromiser

The first few hours spent in the crack were miserable. Smaug's snarling and constant pacing back and forth kept Arya alert and agitated. She supposed her disobedience rather than the fact that she was hidden from him was what enraged him…

After the dragon had finally settled back onto his hoard with a frustrated huff, Arya had finally been able to sleep. She wasn't exactly sure how long she spent snoozing away in that crack, but when she awoke, her stomach was gurgling and her mouth was dry with want for water. She could hear the rumbling of Smaug's light snores from where he slept and she wondered fancifully if she could sneak out of her hideaway to stuff her mouth. But, of course, there was no way that he wouldn't notice her… Not to mention, _he_ was the one her brought her all her meals, so it wasn't like there would be any food around anyways.

She was able to force herself to fall back into unconsciousness for a few more hours and even had some strange dreams in which the gold resting outside her hideaway had come to life and struck up a conversation with her about how it _hated_ being used as Smaug's bedding. She and the gold had later been joined by some badly bloodied sheep who cried about how Smaug was such a messy eater. Later, the mini therapy group welcomed a young maiden, practically charred to a crisp and in tears over the fact that Smaug liked his meals well done.

Dreams could only last so long however, and Arya awoke on the second day of her self-inflicted quarantine with an aching bladder and a screaming stomach.

She shifted uncomfortably on the ground, crossing her legs tightly as if somehow that would magically ease the pressure in her abdomen.

When she had first taken up residence in her crack, she had gladly proclaimed that she would rather soil herself than come out to face Smaug and his fury… but that had been more of a spur of the moment thing. And now that the time had _actually_ come that her bladder was demanding to be emptied, she was more than a bit _reluctant_ to pee all over the area she was residing in.

Arya debated with herself internally for a few minutes before standing on shaky legs and cautiously easing her way out of the crack. She stood at the entrance, grey eyes searching for her captor.

Smaug was sleeping a good distance away—just close enough that he would be able to keep a watchful eye on the crack.

Arya took a few hesitant steps forward, observing him closely. The dragon's gigantic eyes were closed and his scaled sides moved rhythmically as he breathed. He didn't seem to notice she'd emerged.

She knelt down and scooped up a handful of gold, legs tensed in preparation to sprint back to her crack if need be. With one fluid motion, she hurled the coins at the slumbering dragon. They bounced harmlessly off his scaled side and tinkled loudly as they hit the pile beneath him. Smaug didn't move. Arya waited—crouched low and muscles locked—for a few more seconds before standing and rushing off to the washroom.

After relieving herself, she stuck her head into the large bath and gulped down as much water as her empty stomach could handle. It tasted stale and dusty on her tongue and she wondered offhandedly just how long this water had been sitting here, but continued to swallow it down none the less. When she felt full enough that she was certain she'd slosh with every step she took, Arya sat back and rested contently against the cool stone.

She knew she should be heading back as quickly as possible in case Smaug awoke, but it was nice to be able to stretch her aching limbs.

She took a moment to scrub her face and hair clean and wipe away the traces of body odor that had started to appear—noting all the while that this was the same water she'd been slurping down not moments ago—and then began the trek back to Smaug and his treasure.

The stairs, thankfully, were made of stone rather than the wooden planks that had been used back in Esgaroth. Because of that, every step she took was decently muffled rather than a symphony of squeaks and creaks. When she reached the bottom, she swore she was in the clear. Carefully, she began to tiptoe over to her crack.

"Surrendering so soon… _How pathetic_."

Arya froze.

Smaug hadn't moved an inch from when she'd snuck past earlier, but now his golden eyes were open and fixed on her. Smoke rose from his nostrils in steady plumes and she could see the start of a snarl on his lips. She gulped.

"Guess I wasn't able to sit around in puddles of my pee after all," she laughed shakilly. It felt like she was making an excuse for stealing cakes from the baker when she clearly had frosting on her lips—a completely stupid and pointless attempt.

The dragon didn't seem the least bit entertained by her explanation and his lips curled up to display pointed fangs. Arya swallowed thickly. Fight was impossible, so flight came next. She turned to escape, but didn't even have a chance to start running before a gigantic, clawed, foot, smashed into the ground and blocked her path.

Arya skidded to a halt and Smaug's tail curled tightly around her.

"What should I do with you, hmm?" he snarled. "Breaking your spirit seems like such an _inadequate_ punishment. Perhaps something _worse_ would be more fitting." He grinned. "Any suggestions, little oaf?"

"Well… I think… that I might have an idea that would benefit you more than—" she gulped, "—_breaking_ me."

Smaug lowered his gigantic head so that he could stare her dead in the eye. His steaming breath smelled like soot and decay. She stared back at him, noticing how his teeth glinted in the dim light. He blew a small puff of smoke in her face. The black cloud made her eyes water and her lungs ache.

"_Go on, then_."

"W-Well…" she began tentatively, "That whole 'shattering my spirit' idea seems like it may be a tad bit tedious for the both of us—you having to put all that effort into destroying a measly human girl, and me having to be emotionally crippled beyond recognition and all that… So I was thinking that… that…"

His tail's grip tightened.

"Thinking _what_, little oaf?"

"Thinking… that we could come to a compromise."

The dragon settled back on his haunches and leered down at her. "And, pray tell, why I should bother to do that? Why should _I_ have to make any kind of bargain with the likes of you?"

"Because then you can weed that stubbornness out of me without any of the work! Obedience training without actually having to do any training… It's any pet owner's dream come true."

Golden irises lit with the tiniest bit of interest and his hold began to loosen. "Explain."

"If you agree to treat me with even the tiniest bit of respect—"

Smaug opened his mouth to make some kind of rebuttal but Arya simply shouted over him.

"_If you agree to treat me with some respect_, then I'll do the same. I won't go hide in a crack for two days, I won't throw gold at you, and I won't start screaming when you're being obnoxiously cryptic."

"And what would that entail I do in return?" Smaug snorted. "Allow you to lie amongst my hoard and take what you please? Ride on my back like I am some common cart horse? Let you rest by my side at night as an _equal?_" he spat the word like it was bitter poison in his mouth.

Arya frowned up at him. "No; tempting—but no again; and _most certainly not_. I only want you to stop threatening me and, maybe, _just maybe_, let me _do_ something other than occasionally taking a piss and stuffing my face."

"_Do_ something?"

"_Yes._ You know, be active in some way or other? Like maybe _explore_ this place, or—"

He lowered his head again and hissed in her face. "Ah. _I_ see. You wish to try and find a way to escape, do you?"

"Ideally, yes. That would be lovely. But I'm pretty certain the only way in or out of this mountain is through that dragon sized hole of yours, and—_I'm not certain, mind you_—but the last time I checked, I wasn't able to fly, so escape seems pretty impossible."

Smaug hummed, seemingly satisfied (if not a bit amused) by her answer and his tail retreated. Arya rubbed at her sore arms and straightened her clothing.

"Why the desire to explore then, if not for prospective freedom?"

"Because I'm bored!" she groaned, exasperated. "You said yourself when you scooped me out of that field that being stuck in here was even boring for _you_!"

The dragon frowned down at her. "I believe that you are here to relieve me of my own monotony, not the other way around."

"I bet I could be a heck of a lot more entertaining if I did something other than sit in the corner and tie my hair in knots all day."

Smaug grumbled something under his breath too low for Arya to make out before heading back to his previous napping spot and settling down with a thud that sent gold and jewels flowing in all directions. He stared over at her for another few seconds before closing his eyes with a sigh that sent smoke swirling into the air.

"Fine. Do as you wish."

Arya's mouth fell open. "…Really?"

"Would you prefer I rethink my decision?"

"No! That's fine!" She spluttered.

"I expect you to be able to provide me with a more exceptional way to ease my boredom than simply being an annoyance. Is that understood?"

"Loud and clear."

Seemingly unable to leave it at that, Smaug opened his eyes to glare at her. "As punishment for earlier, you will have to wait for food until tomorrow."

Her stomach rebelled angrily, but she forced a grin. It was far better than what _could_ have happened to her after all.

"Got it."

His eyelids slid closed and it appeared that he would say no more to her. Arya bit her lip in thought. In all truth, he was being far more understanding and civil than she could have ever hoped for. Perhaps he thought she wasn't worth the effort of being nasty. Perhaps he actual did want some kind of presence around to keep him entertained and was too lazy to go find another who was capable of speech. Either way, she felt she ought to say _something_ to show she was grateful he hadn't tortured her to insanity just for the heck of it.

With a sigh, she sat down by her usual pillar.

"A nickname."

His nose wrinkled as she spoke and he opened his eyes once again.

"_What_?"

"You can give me a nickname."

"A nickname?" He seemed to be trying the word out on his tongue—unsure if he liked the taste of it or not.

She nodded. "I won't let you take my name from me—not completely, at least. So I'll meet you half way. You can give me a nickname, and I swear to answer to it… as long as it's not _Hecate._"

He hummed, closing his massive eyes and rolling onto his side to face away from her. She could see the smoke rising from where his nostrils must have been resting in the gold.

"I'd rather not."

"Hmm?"

"I believe 'oaf' already suits you well enough. It seems to describe you perfectly. Do you not agree?"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake."

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**So the first compromise is made. And now they can start being a smidge less nasty to each other. Hopefully everyone liked this chapter! The **_**How to Train Your Dragon**_** soundtrack is wonderful inspiration.**

**Until next week!**


	4. Be the Student

**The amount of panic I felt when I tried to get onto Fanfiction the other day and my computer kept saying 'page cannot load' was absolutely unreal O.o Thank God it's alright now. I'm far too attached to this site for my own good. **

**tinkerbell265: I'm honestly not sure. At the moment I'd like to say no, because the way I have things planned out, it doesn't seem like an option (or at least one that makes sense). But who knows? I've changed things around a lot in other stories.**

**Time Reviewer: I actually was planning on doing that a bit haha. Particularly in this chapter! I just thought it was funny that you mentioned it while I was writing it :D **

**Enjoy!**

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Dragon's Bait  
Chapter 4—Be the Student

Arya had never really seen herself as someone who could grow fond of imprisonment. Then again, she'd never particularly seen herself _being_ _imprisoned_ in the first place—let alone as the pet of some gigantic, red dragon.

Low and behold, her brief residency within that crack had seemed to shift the atmosphere of her situation into a much more positive one.

Of course, that's not to say that suddenly she and Smaug were the greatest of pals and spent the long afternoons gossiping and giggling together like teenage girls (Though that would have been pretty awesome). It was something more along the lines of a common understanding… a mutual respect, if you will.

Smaug no longer sneered when she spoke, so she no longer rambled on simply to irritate him. She said 'thank you' when he brought her meals and he hummed low under his breath—the closest he would get to ever saying 'you're welcome,' she supposed. Arya spent her days exploring the innumerable amount of rooms and halls of the Lonely Mountain. If she found something interesting, she snatched it up, or ripped it off the wall, or pried it from its case, and brought it back to her pillar. Smaug had commented on that once. He'd called it 'nesting,' or something along those lines. Though he complained grouchily each day about the ever growing pile of junk, he never actually carried out any of his threats to melt her treasures into goop, so she assumed he didn't _really _mind as much as he claimed to.

At night, after she'd returned with her haul of the day and sorted it properly, Arya would sit with Smaug to eat her dinner and play a game—a game of riddles.

During their little 'argument' those two weeks or so ago, she'd promised to keep him entertained. Arya had never thought that she was particularly unintelligent, but for the life her, she hadn't been able to figure out what the heck a dragon did for fun. Burn villages? Steal gold? All valid possibilities… None of which she could really see herself comparing too. But she _had_ heard once that dragons loved a good riddle. That day, she'd sat and thought over every riddle she'd ever been told, and even made up a couple of them herself. So when Smaug had settled down to sleep, she'd piped up from across the room—

"_From the dark realms constellation did I gain my birth, secret children of Mother Earth, in armor's coat the protection I give, to lie beneath those who live."_

He'd opened his eyes to stare curiously at her for a moment or two before answering.

"_A dragon's hoard."_

"_Right. Your turn."_

"_What?"_

"_Yes. Your turn. Now hurry up. My brain only functions for so long at a time."_

And that was how it started. Simple enough, but it was enjoyable none the less. Each night, Smaug settled into in his hoard like some kind of gigantic tom cat curling onto its favorite pillow, and closed his amber eyes. Smoke would billow up slowly, almost peacefully, from his nostrils and he'd wait. Sometimes, if she took too long, he'd crack one eye open the smallest bit to glare over at her until she too got comfortable in her little nest.

Arya would start—often with one so simple that he wouldn't even bother opening his eyes to reply to it.

"_What's round as a dishpan, deep as a tub, and still the oceans couldn't fill it up?"_

"_A sieve."_

"_Right."_

Then, he'd ask one in return.

"_In and out, like the tides, I go. Past the jaws, I move to and fro. If you lose me, find me fast, or else my loss will be your last."_

"_Is it… air? Breath?"_

"_Hmm."_

"_Yes! …Actually, I already knew that one. So that's kind of cheating I guess."_

It would go back and forth for a while, each set of riddles becoming more difficult as time went on. Well, more difficult for her at least. The most she'd seen Smaug think over one her brain teasers was a solid thirty-five seconds. But it'd been a satisfying thirty-five seconds none the less.

The game would continue until eventually, he'd ask her one that left her puzzling for minutes on end.

"_There is a story that a man and not a man, saw and did not see a bird and not a bird, perched on a branch and not a branch, and hit him and did not hit him with a rock and not a rock."_

"_What is that even supposed to be asking?"_

"_What is the story."_

"_You just told me the story!"_

"_How is it _plausible._"_

"_Ugh."_

And with that, she'd concede in silence and both of them would turn away from each other to sleep. It wasn't much of anything—just a way to keep the two of them entertained during her stay in the mountain… But Arya enjoyed it. And she had a feeling that Smaug, cold and condescending as he may be, did to.

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Just this morning, Arya had stumbled upon what she assumed to be a dining hall. There had been a fairly large and _very_ pretty tapestry hanging on one of the walls. After seeing so many of the other tapestries that the dwarves had created, she assumed that this one—like all the others—depicted some kind of story. However, for the life her, she just couldn't figure out what the heck it was about. The most logical thing to do therefore had been to tear it from the wall and bring it back to her pillar for further observation.

Now, she stood back at the hoard—confused and irritated.

She held up the tapestry, brow scrunched as she focused on the jumbled characters and slashes interwoven into the fabric. Normally, the pictures were clear enough that she could make out the cloth's story, but this one… This one seemed so much harder… The confusing tapestry began to slip and swallowed her arms whole. It appeared to be working on eating her head next, so she simply gave up with a heavy sigh and sunk to the ground to drown in fabric.

"What are you doing, little oaf?"

Arya poked her head out from beneath the gigantic tapestry. Huh. She thought he'd been sleeping. "Can't you tell? I'm trying to figure out what's happening."

"What's _happening_?"

"Yes. What's happening in the picture," she nodded, pointing to the intricate stitching which made up the face of the regal looking dwarf residing on the tapestry. His sword was tipped with blood, but there was no enemy to be seen. In fact, his grave and depressing countenance was surrounded by what looked like happy faces. "I can't figure it out…"

The dragon snorted.

"Look at the words underneath. Those tend to describe the situation adequately enough. Though why you feel the need to understand a dwarfish tale is beyond even my understanding."

Arya rolled her eyes and returned to fiddling with the fabric in her hands. She glared at the scrawl, brain fighting to make sense of the garbled mess. Smaug watched her struggle with a curious eye.

"The writing is not too old—Dwarfish or otherwise, you should not have trouble deciphering it. The written language in Dale, and therefore the one also used in your precious Esgaroth, was very similar to that of the Dwarves so that trading would be a simpler task."

Arya stared down at the bit of tapestry she held in her hands. She bit her lip and averted her gaze. Smaug frowned over at her from where he lay across the room.

"Do you mean to tell me you are _illiterate?_"

"Don't put it like that. It makes me sound like an idiot."

Smaug lifted his head with a scowl. "Those who cannot read _are_ idiotic."

She crossed her arms stubbornly with a huff, though she looked a tad dejected. "What's it matter? It's not like reading is _important_." She wrapped the tapestry around herself like a blanket. "There was never any time or real need to learn how to read back in Lake Town… I know how to make out a bunch of numbers from helping my father at the docks, but being able to pick up a book was never really a necessity."

Smaug extended his long, serpentine, neck to growl in her face.

"I will not have an imbecile for a pet."

"Well, unless you feel like flying out and finding a _new_ pet, you're stuck with this one."

He pulled his head back so that she had to crane her neck to return his glare.

"Go to the library and return with as many books as you can carry."

"There's a _library_ in here?"

He closed his eyes with an irritable huff of steaming hot breath that brought sweat to her brow.

"_Find_ the library then, and return with as many books as your tiny arms can hold."

"Why?"

"Do not question me, little oaf."

She glowered up at him.

"What? Are you expecting me to be able to sit and stare at a book and just _magically_ be able to read? Or are you going to play teacher? Because that would be absolutely hilarious and I might just keel over at the sight."

He sighed, annoyed, and bared his teeth. "What must be done, must be done."

Her jaw dropped.

"_You're kidding_."

"Do I appear as if I am 'kidding,' _little oaf,"_ he snarled.

She gulped. "Not in the slightest. But, isn't that… I don't know… _beneath you_, or something like that?"

"Of course. But, as you have told me in the past, desperate times call for desperate measures."

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Arya lifted another heavy novel from the dusty shelf and dropped it at her feet. The pile was growing bit by bit and she wondered if she'd be able to carry all the books back. She'd been wandering the rows of this library for what felt like a very, very long time. Any book she found that had an interesting looking picture on the cover, she tossed onto the stack at her feet. If a book had no picture, it was stuffed back into its place. Not a very fair form of decision making, but she had no other way to make any kind of judgment… It's not like she could actually read the titles, after all.

She added one more novel to the pile and stepped back. Arya nodded at her tiny collection and reached down to pull it into her arms. The combined weight of leather and paper was staggering and her arms gave way almost immediately. The books tumbled to the ground with an echoing BOOM. She looked around on instinct to see if anyone had caught sight of her blunder (which was actually a pretty stupid thing to do when she thought about it, because who _else _was in this mountain?). Carefully, she plucked three of the books from the jumbled mess and hurried out.

The library had taken some time to find. She'd spent ages opening door, after door, after door and squinting into dark rooms until she'd found the right one. Now that she had to leave, she wondered if she'd ever manage to find her way back again. This mountain and the kingdom within were beyond enormous—far too big to be the residency of one girl and a dragon. It was so empty and cold… She wondered how Smaug had managed to live here all these years without losing his mind.

After a bit of wandering, she managed to find a familiar hallway and from that she was able to make her way back to the hoard.

She was half way down the stairs when Smaug spoke.

"You could not manage to carry more than _three?"_

The baritone rumble of his voice reverberated throughout the entire chamber and made her brain buzz. She shook her head and continued down the staircase.

"You're free to go find the library yourself and bring back some more."

He huffed.

"Three will have to do."

She plopped down on the tapestry from earlier that she'd left bundled up on the floor and placed the books neatly before her. Smaug pushed through the piles of treasure to settle a few meters away. He looked down at her with narrowed golden eyes. The fire breather looked as thrilled to be dubbed her tutor as Arya was to be his student.

"Tell me what you know."

"About…?"

"_Reading_."

She frowned. "I know that I can't do it, and that's about it."

The dragon sighed and lowered his head to look over her shoulder.

"Open one of the books."

She picked up the one with a faded etching of a knight on the cover and turned to the first page.

"Each chunk of text is a paragraph—noted by the indentation at the start of it. Each paragraph is made up of sentences, each sentence is made up of words, and each word is made up of various letters or characters. When we speak, words are separated by pauses. In writing, words are separated by small spaces."

"I know what a word is, Smaug."

"Not in written form, you don't_, little oaf_."

"Touché. Carry on."

"Each letter or character makes a unique sound that, when strung together, create words."

"Is there any reason that letters are a lot larger than other ones? Like the first one?" She pointed at it. "That one right there."

"No."

"Then why do they do that?"

"Aesthetics."

"Ugh. This is already hurting my head." She rubbed at her temples. "How many letters are there? Five? Ten?"

"Almost triple that."

Arya groaned. This was miserable! Smaug, however, looked like he was quite enjoying her mental anguish. With a heavy sigh, she placed a finger over the first word on the page—the one that started with the obnoxiously big letter that had no purpose other than _aesthetics._

"What's that word?"

"_Once._"

"And that one?"

Smaug snorted. "It is customary to read the words _in order_, little oaf."

"I see…" She pointed to the second word. "So what's that one?"

"_Upon._"

"And that one?"

"Did I not just tell you that you must read the words in order?"

"I know, I know. I just really want to know what that particular word is."

"_Coalesce_."

She squinted at the word. "Who would have thought it…?"

"Perhaps yourself, if you were not illiterate," he mocked.

"Hey, _baby steps_. I know what a letter is, and I know that people make them bigger for no valid reason whatsoever."

Smaug hummed and Arya flipped to the next page, and the next. She held the novel up to her nose and squinted at the tiny font.

"This book has a lot of words."

"Yes, books tend to do that."

She rolled her eyes and closed the heavy leather cover with a 'thud.' She frowned up at Smaug.

"Am I really going to be able to learn how to read all of this? It seems… Well, it seems like a lot."

"Once you are able to read, the amount and size of words will be no issue. You will be able to easily understand any and all books that you find—both in this mountain or otherwise."

She glanced up at him hesitantly.

"You're sure?"

The dragon snorted. "Do you doubt my ability to teach you?"

"Well, _no_, but—"

"Good. If that is indeed the case, I suggest you reopen that book and pay attention. Even someone such as me may be a bit taxed when it comes to instructing someone such as you."

Arya sighed and flipped the book back open. Smaug grumbled low in his throat and made himself more comfortable on the ground.

"Now. Where were we…"

**T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T**

**I love reading and I considered making Arya an avid reader too. But then I remembered that she didn't exactly grow up in a place where the average Joe would have very much of an education under his belt. So this idea was formed.**

**I'm a bit overtired at the moment, so if anyone notices any spelling or grammatical errors, please let me know so I can fix them. **

**Hope everyone enjoyed it and see you all next week! :D **


	5. Be the Scholar

**Happy late Valentine's Day!**

**Updating a little later in the day than normal, but it's still out on Saturday none the less. This chapter was a lot of fun to write. I had to research a few things for this and the next chapter to make sure what I was writing could actually be plausible, and all of those things were really interesting. **

**Loki'sdreamer: I would say Arya is in her mid to early twenties—as that would have made it socially acceptable for her to still be unmarried, yet still strange in a sense all the same. **

**Enjoy! **

**T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T**

Dragon's Bait  
Chapter 5—Be the Scholar

"_It's a da… dan… ger... ous… _Dangerous?_—_that's what it says right? Dangerous?—_business, going out your dour—_"

"Door."

"—_going out your _door. _You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no kanowing—_'"

"Knowing."

"Oh. Right. Silent 'k' and all that."

"Finish the sentence."

Arya sighed and turned her gaze back to the mess of miniscule letters. She continued, slow and cautious as she carefully sounded out each word.

"_There's no_ knowing _where… you might be swept off to_."

Smaug hummed, looking the tiniest bit satisfied with her progress. He dropped his head to rest in his gold with a heavy 'thud,' as if reading over her shoulder was obnoxiously tiring and not worth his time in the least.

"I will admit, you are not doing as horrendously as I had originally believed you would."

Arya rolled her eyes and gently placed the book on the stone floor. "Gee. Thanks."

"Though your vocabulary is pitifully small."

"I haven't had nearly as long as you've had to stuff my brain with all kinds of nonsense."

"Language is not _nonsense_ to—"

"—_to a creature with any kind of intellect_, bla, bla, bla." She reclined back against her pillar. "As if you're one to talk, _Baggo the Blathering_."

He snorted, sending a cloud of grey smoke spiraling to the ceiling, and bared his teeth lightly. "Careful, little oaf. I enjoy our banter, but _do be careful_."

Arya sighed yet again, but kept her mouth shut. Smaug was very patient with her and her literacy troubles. She found that if she treated him with respect, then he was less often to growl or brood. But no matter how _somewhat familiar_ they had become as of late, he was still a monstrous dragon and she his oh-so-breakable, human pet.

It annoyed her endlessly that she had to keep her mouth shut and her speech censored, but it was a sacrifice she needed to make if she had any intention of not becoming a human piece of toast.

"You ought to have a dictionary."

She looked up, grey eyes narrowing in confusion at the foreign word. "A… _what?_"

"It is a book that contains every word that has ever been spoken on this earth alongside their definitions."

"…That must be a really big book."

"Hmm. I suppose. Though it is certainly not as grand as you may be imagining."

"I guess it wouldn't be practical if it was…" she mumbled with a disappointed huff. Her stomach decided to speak up at that moment as well, grumbling and growling its disapproval.

"I suppose it is time to feed you again."

Her stomach gurgled and she pressed a hand over it. "I don't feel very hungry. You can wait a while if you want."

Yesterday, he'd brought her a pig—something that she felt she hadn't eaten for the longest time. And she _did _love a good pig. In fact, it was her favorite. Because of that, she'd eaten far too much and though her stomach was starting to whine again, Arya could still feel the lethargic tug of overeating weighing on her. The _last_ thing she needed right now was more meat.

Her stomach cried out once more despite how full she still felt, and Smaug's nose crinkled as he glowered over at her. He stood slowly, gold and jewels pooling at his clawed feet.

"I will return shortly with another meal."

"Whatever you say." She looked up at him. "But if you _are_ going to bring more food, can you get me some fruit? Apples, or plums, or something along those lines? I'm craving something sweet."

Smaug snorted and stretched with a wide yawn that more than adequately displayed his gigantic pearly whites. Once again, Arya found that the dragon reminded her of a large cat. She wondered what it would be like if Smaug was the size of an _actual_ cat. It could be fun, and then _he'd _be _her_ pet. The image of a tiny Smaug chasing a string and drinking warm milk from a cup—large, blue, bow tied around his neck, of course—made her grin.

"You will eat what I bring you."

She frowned.

"_Please._"

The dragon leered down at her for a moment, before turning away to prune his wings. "If you think begging will make me give into your wishes, you are wrong."

"_Pleeeeaaase."_

"No."

"_Please, please, please, pleeeeeaaasse."_

With a final shake of leathery wings and an irritated snort, Smaug pushed off the ground and into the air. A flick of his whip like tail sent coins flying in all directions. A decent amount rained down over her head, bouncing harmlessly off her skull. She scowled as he disappeared over the ledge where the stairs began and was gone from her sight. She cupped her hands over her mouth and called after him.

"I hope that's dragon for _'yes! Of course I'll bring you back some fruit, Arya dearest!'_"

The answering snarl told her that _no_, it very obviously did _not_ mean anything close to that.

Arya rolled her eyes and picked up the book at her feet. She turned to the page that she had been reading aloud for Smaug and continued to read silently.

Though Smaug had constantly drilled into her head that she needed to be able to read so that _he _wouldn't have a moron for a pet, she did actually _enjoy_ it. It was a secret that she would take to her grave (she would never give that oversized lizard the satisfaction), but like her imprisonment in the mountain, this too seemed like something that was more to her benefit than to his. Even though she still had to struggle through each sentence, and often found it necessary to sound words out aloud before she could understand what she was reading, it was still something to _do._ It killed time like nothing else and the yellowed pages were almost homey feeling.

She turned the page.

"_It is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succor of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till. What weather they shall have is not ours to rule."_

Arya lifted her head with a puzzled frown. _Succor_. She mouthed the word slowly, wondering if she was reading it incorrectly (which was very likely). What did that mean? Usually, she'd simply ask Smaug, but, of course, it wasn't like she could communicate with him telepathically. Unless… She thought whimsically about invading the dragon's mind and annoying him endlessly from within his skull, but shook her head.

She searched her brain for a solution. She could always just ignore it, continue reading, and ask the fire breather the definition once he returned. But… what if it was an important word? One that she _needed_ to know? What if it came up _again_? _Then _what?

With a heavy sigh, Arya bent the page and let the book slip closed. What was that thing Smaug had been talking about earlier? A… dignitary? Diphlonary? No. Dictionary! That was it. _A dictionary._ If it really had the definitions of all words within it, she was sure it could tell her what a 'succor' was.

She wondered if there would be a dictionary in the library.

It must have been a pretty big book if it managed to house and define every known word in the world, and she didn't feel like carting it all the way back to the hoard. She remembered 'succor' well enough to look it up when (or if) she found the dictionary, but what if she came across another word she didn't know…? Then what would she do? She'd walk all the way back to the library yet again? No. It would be easier if she sucked it up and carted the dictionary back with her.

So Arya began the long trek to the dank room. She paused for a moment underneath the hole in the mountain. It was sunny and she could just barely hear birds chirping and singing somewhere far away. She breathed in the slightly-fresher air—wishing like anything that she could feel the breeze that was pushing those puffy clouds through the sky above. Maybe at one point, Smaug would trust her enough to take her there. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it must feel like to fly through the air.

With a small smile, she turned and began to walk.

_Crunch._

She paused and checked her feet. She hadn't stepping in anything, had she? The last thing she needed to do was unintentionally track some kind of dead animal carcass all through the mountain.

_Crunch. _

That time, she hadn't moved… so that meant that the noise wasn't from her. Smaug was gone, so it wasn't him… A rat maybe? A bird?

Arya's eyes narrowed and her heart gave a tiny lurch in fear. Her eyes caught onto something dangling from the mouth of the gaping hole and her brow furrowed further. Was that a… a rope? No. Why would there be a rope? Unless…

_Crunch_.

She spun towards the noise and glared into the shadows. Her eyesight may not have been anywhere near as perfect as Smaug's but it was decent enough—at least good enough that she was absolutely _certain_ she could see something skulking around in the dark. And she was pretty sure that no rat was that size (or at the very least she hoped so). If it wasn't a rat, and it wasn't her, and it wasn't Smaug… That could only mean one thing.

The shadow moved once more and her hands tightened around the edges of her shirt.

_There was a thief in the mountain._

**T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T**

***insert dramatic music here***

**And the first trial begins. A thief in the mountain! And when Smaug is gone hunting, none the less. Oh dear. **

**A little short again, but next week's will more than make up for that, I can assure you. **

**See you all next week! Hope you enjoyed it. **


	6. Be the Lawman

**Happy Saturday!**

**I wasn't feeling that well today, hence why this is out a little later in the day than normal. But it is a decent length, so that makes it okay. Right? **

**Unfortunately, the intruder isn't our dearest Bilbo Baggins. I would say to look at the clues to figure out who our thief is (came in by climbing down a rope, time period of story), but then again, there was really no way anyone could have figured it out because he only existed in my noggin. **

**Shiko-Rae: Ah! I'm glad someone noticed that! I love Tywin and his weird relationship dynamic with Arya, and I figured Smaug and my Arya would probably start out somewhere like that too. And ****_Game of Thrones_**** is one of my all-time favorite things ever, so I'll be squeezing in as many references as I can. **

**Enjoy!**

**T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T**

Dragon's Bait  
Chapter 6—Be the Lawman

_There was an intruder in the Mountain._

Arya pressed herself against a pillar and held her breath.

It didn't appear that whoever this thief was had seen her—not yet, at least. She would have scoffed at the fact that someone willing to sneak into Smaug's mountain was so inattentive, but then again, why would this intruder have any reason to believe a human was wandering the halls?

It seemed like forever before the man turned and trotted into the hall, out of sight. With a heavy sigh, her muscles relaxed and she slid down against the pillar.

She sat, shaking and anxious against the hard rock. _There was an intruder in the mountain._ _There was an intruder in her home. _

What was she supposed to do?

The first reply her mind came up with was to wait for Smaug to come back, obviously! Once the he returned, she could tell him of the thief and the dragon would no doubt smite the intruder with a hellish downpour of fire and brimstone… or something like that. Simple enough.

On the other hand, was she really expected to go cower in a corner like some frightened damsel would while waiting for her older brother to come and kill a spider? She was no frail female! She was Arya! And she'd told Smaug herself that her name meant _noble_, not _cowering. _He would never let her live it down if she stood around waiting for him to take care of this trespasser. She could already hear that baritone voice of his jeering at her fallibility.

With twisted grimace, she began to pace back and forth.

What could she do? Confront the intruder? Demand he leave? Threaten him? All three?

She ran a hand through her tussled, auburn hair.

Grey eyes caught on a set of decorative blades hanging on the stone walls. Images of decapitation and death by innumerable stab wounds swam temptingly at the edge of her mind, but she shook her head. She was no knight like the characters in the books Smaug had taught her to read. She was no seasoned killer. In all likelihood, she'd end up dead before landing a single successful blow.

So the swords were a no go. But beneath the blades was a small table on which sat a very pretty vase. Was painted pottery deadly? Not necessarily. But she could make it so.

Arya walked over and plucked the vase from its place, shifting it back and forth between her fingers. It was heavy and decently sized, maybe enough so that it could do some damage.

So she had her weapon. Now all she needed was her victim.

Arya headed down the hall she'd seen the thief disappear into, vase in hand and determination in her heart. After all, if she failed, Smaug would taunt her to the end of her days.

She narrowed her eyes into the darkness, fingers flexing around her makeshift weapon.

_Okay thief. Where are you?_

Something moved in the shadows.

_There you are._

Arya inched closer. She could see the back of him pretty clearly now. She was pretty close, though not so much that she could properly attack.

Clubbing him in the back of the head could work, but whenever she'd seen a fight on the docks back at the Lake Town, the person who'd fall into the water first tended to get knocked out after being smacked in the face rather than the back… So that should be what she did, right? Aim for the face.

But how to get him to face her without first giving herself away…?

Well, she'd gotten Smaug's attention initially from screaming like a mad woman, so if it could work on a dragon, it should be able to work on a human intruder too, right? _Right?_

Arya took a shaky breath in through her nose and took another step towards him. She was so close—near enough to smell the unpleasantness of his sweat. She opened her mouth, arms and weapon raised high.

"HEY. TURN AROUND, MORON."

He swiveled.

She swung.

And BAM.

She smashed the vase directly into the side of his temple and his head whipped to the side. The vase cracked against his skull and the thief as well as the shattered remains of the decorative jardinière plummeted ungracefully to the ground. It was over in a matter of seconds.

Arya stared, open mouthed, at the fallen intruder lying in a heap at her feet. A small trickle of blood trailed from his temple where the vase had broken against it. She carefully skirted around the jagged pieces of ruined pottery to poke his arm. He didn't move.

She bent down to observe him.

He was not old, but not particularly youthful either. His skin was tanned and the area around his eyes and mouth were crinkled lightly from sun and age. His dark hair was on the shorter side in length—reaching to about his ears—but it was thick and scruffy none the less.

She watched over him for a few more minutes, casually observing his weathered clothing and rather threatening looking crooked knife tucked into a leather belt. She plucked it from its sheath and shoved it into a pile of rubble on the opposite side of the room until it was out of sight. The last thing she needed was for him to wake up and lob off her ear.

When that was done, Arya sat back on her haunches with a huff.

_What was she supposed to do with him? _

She supposed tying him up would do. The last thing she needed was for him to wake up and for her to have to smash him with _another _vase.

So she propped him up against one of the pillars, struggling to get him to stay upright. She watched his slouched, unconscious self for a few moments, lightly tapping a finger against her chin as she pondered what to do next… _Ah ha!_ Arya sprinted back to the hoard and returned to her victim minutes later with the dwarfish tapestry in her hands. Delicately, she wrapped the long cloth round and round, binding intruder to pillar and pillar to intruder. The heavy material was cumbersome to work with, but she was able to tie it in enough knots that she was decently certain he wouldn't be able to escape.

She pulled back to admire her work. Perhaps she should tie it a little more tightly—

"_Ugh_…"

Uh-oh.

"_What's going on? What happened?_"

Arya took a deep breath. If Smaug were here, he'd tell her to be aggressive, a formidable enemy. She should make this intruder quake for dare entering the dragon's mountain! Her home! And right when she was in the middle of hunting down a dictionary, none the less.

"Hello, thief."

His eyes widened. "A ghost of the mountain!"

She carefully tightened the tapestry, knotting it once more just to be safe. "Not quite."

"I see," he nodded. "You have survived here on your own for so long, Madam Dwarf."

"I'm not a—"

"Be calm, dwarf ghoul. I am here to free your kingdom from its fiery tormentor!"

"I'm not a dwarf!" Arya snapped, giving a sharp tug on the makeshift bindings. "Nor is this my kingdom. …Well… I suppose it could be. It is just me and Smaug in here after all. I should have a claim to at least part of it."

"Then what are you exactly?"

Was it really that hard to figure it out? What the heck did she look like? Was she really ugly enough that he couldn't think of her being anything but a ghoulish dwarf of the mountain? She leaned forward to sneer at him, grey eyes narrowed in irritation.

"What do _you_ think I am?"

His dark eyebrows furrowed for a moment or two before brown eyes snapped open wide in horror.

"W-Witch! You're a witch!"

"Oh, for Pete's sake! Why does everyone keep saying that?"

He stared up at her with a furrowed brow. "So you're… _not_ a witch?"

Arya tossed her hands up in exasperation. "No! Of course not!"

"So if you are not a dwarf, or a ghost, or a witch, then why exactly _are_ you in this mountain?"

_If you must know, I was staked out in a field by my idiotic town and then scooped up by a giant, red, dragon who's been giving me some nice reading lessons. _

She shook her head roughly back and forth before turning to jab a finger into his tapestry-wrapped chest.

"It doesn't matter why _I'm_ here. All that matters is that _you_ don't belong in here."

"And you do? You belong here? Or are you a thief too?"

Arya grumbled irritably under her breath. The man lifted his head to glare at her.

"And what are you going to do anyways?" he demanded. "Keep me captive? Kill me?"

"I'm not sure yet. At this point in our conversation, murder is a tempting idea, I'll give you that."

"Then whatever it is you're planning on doing, I'd suggest you hurry it along. The dragon will only be gone for a little longer! And when he returns and sees us," his eyes darkened, "it will be the end of us both."

Well… the end of _him_, yes. End of _her?_ Not so much. Arya was certain that if Smaug ever did plan on killing her, he'd have to do it in some ridiculously grandiose way—something that he was far too lazy to do in general, let alone after going out to bring her back food. So she was safe.

She cleared her throat and squared her feet, trying to look stern and intimidating. "If you value your life, I suggest you scurry back up that rope of yours and never return."

"How cryptic," he grinned. Arya wrinkled her nose.

"Would you rather I be more descriptive with my threats?"

"Oh? What would a pretty little thing like you know about the horrors of torture?"

Her lips twisted into a small snarl. Okay. _First,_ he'd been absolutely certain she was a ghoul, _then_ a half-dead dwarf,_ then_ a witch, and _now_ she was suddenly some kind of fair damsel in distress?

"Look. I have no issue with letting you go. Smaug, however, isn't nearly as forgiving. So just do what I—"

"—what you command of me?" he grinned. "And leave a lady such as yourself to rot away as a dragon's slave?"

"_Pet_."

He frowned, confused.

"I'm a dragon's _pet,_ thank you very much. Not a slave. Get your facts right."

His jaw dropped. "Are you telling me that the dragon of the Lonely Mountain _actually_ keeps you as a _pet—"_

"Yes, yes. It's strange. I'm over it. Now. _Leave_."

"Well, I can't very well leave when I'm tied up, now can I?" was the oh so pleasant reply.

"No. You can't," Arya frowned, leveling him with a distrustful glower. "But I need your word before I let you go."

He looked amused. "My _word?_"

"Yes. Your _word._ I need you to swear that when I let you go, you'll actually _leave _rather than run off to the hoard or do something else equally as obnoxious."

He laughed. "I vow not to cause you any trouble."

"I don't really trust you."

"You ought to."

"And why is that?"

"Do you not value the word of a knight?"

Arya had never seen a real knight before, but this smelly man tied to a pillar with a dwarfish tapestry was certainly not one.

"Does the fair lady not believe what I say to be true?"

"Would you stop it with all the 'lady' stuff? If it's your attempt at flattering me so that I let you go, it won't work."

"It can't simply be flattery for the sake of flattery?" he asked with a coy grin and bright eyes. She scoffed in reply.

"Trust me when I tell you this, you insufferable ass,_ you'd have better luck trying to seduce Smaug." _

"Really? Have you tried?"

"You know, I was going to let you leave alive. Now, I think I'll let Smaug turn you into toast. Just for the heck of it."

"I think you like me too much to do that, milady."

Arya snarled under her breath. "Oh, forget this! I give up! No wonder Smaug hates humans! We suck!"

She turned and stomped towards the hall.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going? You can't just leave me here!"

"I can! And I will!"

She ignored the enraged ranting and endless stream of profanities coming from the thief's lips and instead sprinted back to the hole in the mountain. Smaug would be back soon. He had to be. Then, he could do what he wanted with this thief. She certainly didn't know what to do with him…

Arya plopped down under the hole and curled her legs to her chest. She rested her chin on her knees and waited. And waited.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, a large shadow blotted out the light from the sun above and Smaug descended through the gigantic hole in the mountain. He noticed her sitting there almost immediately and landed not a few feet away. He folded his wings and dropped the fruit tree from his jaws, scattering singed branches and leaves across the floor.

"What are you doing out here, little oaf?"

Arya gulped and looked up at him.

"There's a little problem…"

The dragon's golden eyes narrowed into slits. "A _problem?_"

"…yes…"

He lowered his massive head and blew a stream of hot air into her face. It tussled her hair and coated her brow with a thin layer of sweat.

"What _kind_ of problem?"

"_Please_ don't flip out when I tell you. I've got it under control, I just… don't know where to go from here…"

Scaly, red, lips curled up over pointed fangs and black smoke poured out from a stinking mouth.

"What exactly have you done, _little oaf?"_

"Well, technically, I only tied him up—"

"_Him?"_

Smaug's eyes glowed like rage fueled flames from the pits of some draconian Hell. The internal fire that always brewed within him grew and shone through his scaled chest and Arya flinched back in fear.

"Well, yes… _Him." _She laughed nervously. "You see… I was looking for a dictionary, when I saw that there was someone in the mountain and… Well…"

Smaug drummed his long talons against the stone floor and his spiked tail flicked back and forth, scraping against the walls.

"_Go on_."

"So I kind of… sort of… broke a vase… over… his… head…"

The fire breather reared back, almost as if in shock. "You _what?"_

"Attacked him with a vase and tied him to a pillar with a tapestry…"

The dragon stared down at her, silent. Arya rubbed at her arms.

"I was going to wait for you to come back, but I didn't want to just sit around doing _nothing_ while some creep was off strutting through the mountain, so I… just…" She made an awkward gesture with her hand.

Smaug continued to peer down at her, looking unsure exactly what to say to her. Finally, he swiveled to look down the hallway.

"Is this _thief_ down there?"

She nodded. "Fourth pillar on the left."

Smaug turned, easily making his way towards the darkened chamber. He twisted his neck to glance back at her briefly before he was swallowed by the shadows.

"Are you coming?"

"Oh! Yes! Of course! Sorry!"

He hummed, peering down at her with his golden eyes. "Perhaps you are useful for something after all."

**T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T**

**So next time, Smaug will be personally dealing with this little thief. Can't wait to see that ;)**

**I think that Arya did a splendid job on her own though, don't you? Smaug seems to at least. Hope it was enjoyable! Again, if anyone sees any issue (no matter how insignificant) PLEASE let me know so I can fix it ASAP!**

**Until next Saturday!**


	7. Be the Witness

**Sorry about the day delay. I woke up yesterday at one in the morning to a lovely stomach bug. I tried to finish up the chapter, but every time I set my laptop up, I just ended up having to run back to the bathroom yet again to upchuck into the toilet. Bleck. I'll spare the details… Luckily, it was only a twenty-four hour thing and I'm at least okay now to finish typing! **

**Lioness32: At the moment, I wasn't planning on it. But I've totally redone plots for stories in the past, so it may happen yet :D**

**Enjoy!**

**T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T**

Dragon's Bait  
Chapter 7—Be the Witness

"Well, _thief, _did you really believe that you could steal from me and leave unharmed?"

Dark eyes lit with false bravado.

"I do not fear death or pain—let alone you, _dragon_. Do your worst."

Smaug's golden eyes narrowed and a wicked grin twisted his scaly lips.

"_Oh, I intend too_."

The thief's gaze wavered and Arya saw his Adam's apple bob as he gulped. The dragon circled his bound victim, puffing smoke and steaming, copper scented breath in his face.

"What do you propose I do to you?"

Arya glanced back and forth between the two. This man, whoever he was, obviously wasn't going to be getting out of here alive, or, at the very least, in less than three, heavilly toasted, pieces. She wasn't exactly sure if she wanted to hang around to watch Smaug disembowel the guy, but at the same time, she doubted the dragon would be pleased if she hightailed it out of there. In fact, if she ran, he might just force her to watch… so there was really no point. Was there?

"Go ahead, thief. Tell me. What punishment do you believe to most fitting for one such as yourself?"

With a final bought of faux bravery, the thief stared the dragon in the eye and declared, "My name is Fawke, _not thief_, and you will use it."

Smaug stared down at the thief, looking quite entertained. "Strange. You sound a great deal like another _annoyance_ I've recently had the extreme displeasure of dealing with."

Arya grumbled sourly under her breath.

"Oh, come on. I'm not _this_ obnoxious!" She waved her hand at their prisoner in exasperation. The dragon glanced over at her.

"So you think."

"Well then maybe if we're so alike, you should adopt him as your pet_ too_."

Smaug snorted. "Do not be ridiculous. One jabbering mouth is far too much as it is. At least you also hold a smidgen of intelligence in that head of yours—not something I can say for one who dares enter a dragon's hoard _alone_ and with the intent of thievery."

"I am not alone!" Fawke piped up. "Others are coming!"

The fire breather lowered his head to blow smoke in the man's face. "If that's the case, I'm almost tempted to release you. Let the world see what awaits those who wish to steal from _me_!"

"How will that help?" Arya frowned. "Won't that make people think you've gone soft?"

Smaug grinned. "We would be keeping a few of his limbs, of course."

"…Ah."

At this point, dear Fawke seemed to finally grasp exactly how perilous this situation of his was. He squirmed and struggled against his bindings and writhed against the pillar.

Smaug took a step closer—his large claws scraping noisily against the stone floor. His scaled chest began to crackle and glow with the first signs of his internal flame, and Fawke panicked.

"Stop! If you kill me, others will come! Many others! Not just thieves, but hunters and fighters! They know I'm here!"

Smaug looked down on him in wry amusement. "I do not doubt that, thief."

"When I do not return, they will come for me. They will come for _you_," he spat. Arya doubted any ragtag group of men that this thief belonged to would have any luck at slaying Smaug, but the idea still managed to twist her mouth into a worried frown. "They will return for vengeance and they will _kill _you, beast!"

Smaug snorted and reared back.

"And they will meet that same fate as you."

The dragon snarled. The thief howled.

And the chamber erupted in flame.

T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T

Arya flicked through the dictionary. She had forgotten the word that had been troubling her earlier and didn't feel like opening up the other novel to find it. Instead, she mindlessly flipped through the pages of the heavy book in her lap—eyes skimming but not processing the multitude of words printed on the yellowed paper.

She had picked a few of the fruits off the tree that Smaug had brought her and brought them back to the hoard with her. She plucked one from the lopsided pile and took a small bite—barely breaking the fruit's skin.

It should have been time for their nightly game of riddles. Smaug had long since settled atop his usual gold pile. He glared over at her where she sat, munching lightly on the fruit in silence. It was her unofficial duty to start the game, but she had no interest in doing so tonight. Plus, her mind felt too numb to come up with any kind of intelligent questions as it was.

Just when she thought the dragon would be irked enough by her refusal to open her mouth to simply forget the game and fall asleep, his familiar, baritone, voice, echoed throughout the hoard.

"_Give me food, and I will live; give me water, and I will die."_

Arya took another bite of fruit and flipped another page of the dictionary. A minute or two later, she simply shrugged.

"I give up. You win. Night."

Smaug lifted his head with an irritated growl. "Are you really so distraught over the death of such a lowly _pest_?"

She didn't look up from the pages.

"_Well?_"

"No."

He glowered over at her and she slumped forward with a heavy sigh, running a finger over the tiny text.

"I'm upset because I should be upset."

"And why should you be bothered by the death of someone who meant nothing to you?"

"Because I should be," she insisted. "I should be absolutely mortified that I just witnessed a man burned to death not five meters from where I was standing… But I'm not. I can admit I'm a bit perturbed, but nowhere near what I should be… And no matter how hard I try to will myself to burst into tears, or throw up, or be horrified and never speak to you again, or something like that… Well. I just can't." She glanced up from the dictionary to stare at the dragon lounging on the other side of the room. Her eyes shone with worry and her voice felt small when she spoke. "Is there something wrong with me?"

Smaug peered back at her.

"Why would being apathetic to the destruction of a man who brought you naught but trouble in the short time you were forced to associate with him be _wrong?"_

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I don't know… Human empathy, or something along those lines?"

"Why should you feel empathetic towards humanity when it has never sympathized with you?"

Arya's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Was it not irrational, human, fear that landed you at the stake? Was it not humanity that left you to die? Was it not humanity that betrayed you?"

"I guess…"

"The people of your home turned you over as bait the second they had the chance. They cared not for you, so you should not care for them. In fact, it would make more sense to loathe them." Smaug's eyes narrowed. "It is pathetic that you still cling to happy memories of these people in your Lake Town when every one of them abandoned you to rot away."

Arya shook her head rapidly back and forth in denial.

"But not everyone—There were people who thought I was innocent! Who_ knew_ I was innocent! My family! My friends! My… My—"

"Then where were these 'other people'? Where were they when your sentence was carried out? When you were convicted of witch craft?" Smaug snorted, a thick trail of smoke billowing up from his nostrils. "We dragons never turned on one another for the petty things you humans so easily slaughter each other over."

"Well that's because you're _dragons!"_

"It has nothing to do with species, little oaf."

Arya grit her teeth but said nothing, only buried her head deeper into the dictionary.

"Do you understand _now_?"

"Understand that everyone thought ever cared for me did nothing to protect me the one time I actually needed it, and that I'm a sentimental loser who would be better off just curling up in a hole to die? Yes, very much so. Thanks for that."

She turned another page, glaring blearily down at the jumble of writing.

"And what would you do if you could?"

"Excuse me?"

The dragon grinned toothily over at her and casually flicked his spiked tail back and forth through the piles of precious gems and metals scattered all around him.

"Do you not think the actions of those Lake Town people of yours deserve some kind of retribution?"

"What are you talking about?"

"_Do you or do you not_?"

She hid face further in her book with a heavy, depleted, sigh. "…I don't know…"

"Do not avoid answering me. What would you do if you had the chance for vengeance?"

Again, she flipped to the next page.

"Nothing. I would do nothing."

"Oh, do be more creative than that, little oaf. These are the humans who abandoned you in your hour of need—the ones so seduced by the idea that all their problems could be caused by one, miniscule, and insignificant, little girl that they tied you to a stake and left you to be my meal. Now tell me, _what would you do?"_

She bared her teeth, eyes swimming and face red with ire.

"Fine. You want to know what I would do, Smaug? What I would_ really_ do if I had the chance?" she spat, fury overriding rational thought. Her hands were shaking so horribly she practically dropped the dictionary, and the dragon smirked at her rage.

"Yes. What would you do, little oaf? Return to your precious Esgaroth and beg the humans to take you back? To scoop you up with open arms and place you back amongst their ranks?" he mocked.

"No!"

"What would you do, little oaf?"

Finally, after all the time she'd spent avoiding his gaze by burying herself in the dictionary, stormy grey met molten gold.

"You're right."

"Oh?"

"I would go back to them... I would go back, _and I would turn them all to ash._"

The two stared at each other in silence—one completely out of her mind and the other caught within his.

Finally, Smaug hummed, seemingly satisfied with her answer. And with that, the crimson dragon nuzzled more deeply into his gold and prepared to sleep. Arya turned her back to him and returned to staring blankly at the pages beneath her fingers. She rubbed at her warm eyes. She felt drained. She felt like she was finally about to cry those tears that she had wanted to shed not minutes ago—though now they were more out of frustration than fake-grief for the charred crook.

With a shaky sigh, she snapped the book closed and curled up on her side. She burrowed her face into the dwarfish blankets that lined the inside of her makeshift nest and squeezed her eyes shut.

Smaug glanced over at her once more before he too closed his massive eyes.

_I would turn them all to ash._

He sighed contentedly, sending a trail of grey smoke and ash spiraling to the ceiling above.

"Perhaps one day we will."

**T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T**

**This chapter was a lot of fun to write. Yes. A character's inner turmoil and anguish over the fact that she is no longer able to identify with humanity is fun. Don't judge until you write something like it yourself. Then you too will realize how enjoyable it is to make life so agonizingly difficult for your characters ;)**

**Of course, losing touch with her empathy for humanity also means a closer bond with Smaug, so that's good too.**

**Hope everyone enjoyed—I know it was a tad darker than usual and not as comical, but shit needed to go down.**

**Until next weekend!**


	8. Be the Sympathizer

**I really do like this chapter. I hope it doesn't feel like I'm moving the story along too quickly or awkwardly in it, but there's only so many times I can have Arya explore the mountain, or read a book, or play her riddles game with Smaug, before it starts to get boring… So shit needed to go down. ****_Again._**

**Enjoy!**

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Dragon's Bait  
Chapter 8—Be the Sympathizer

"_I have four wings, but cannot fly, I never laugh and never cry; on the same spot I'm always found, toiling away with little sound. What am I?"_

Smaug hummed deep in his throat, tail idly flicking back and forth through his gold as he thought over the riddle. Arya grinned up at him and took another chomp of her dinner. Tonight, Smaug had brought home a rather corpulent cow—which had been deliciously seared to perfection. Dragon fire seemed to have some quality about it which could make anything it fried taste lovely. Arya would have suggested Smaug open his own restaurant, but she supposed he would eat all the patrons.

"Give up yet, Smaug the Stupid?"

"A windmill."

"Damn…"

The dragon chortled under his breath and readjusted his head atop the treasure.

"_Two convicts are locked in a prison cell. There is an unbarred window high on the cell wall. No matter if the two convicts stand atop the bed or atop each other, they cannot reach the window to escape. They then decide to tunnel out."_

"Naturally."

"_However, they soon abandon the idea because it will take too long. At last, one of the convicts figures out how to escape from the cell. What is his plan?"_

"Well, to just tunnel out. I mean, who cares if it takes a long time? You're still getting out in the end."

Smaug frowned.

"That is not the answer."

"Well it ought to be. And it's _my_ answer. And it's a right answer. So you lose." She grinned. The dragon growled low in his throat and Arya rolled her eyes. She waved her hand at him in dismissal. "Fine, fine. Give me another one."

"_A man and a woman live alone in the countryside. One day, the man decides to go into a nearby town. Before he leaves, he inspects the home to be certain no one else is inside, locks each of the windows, and bolts the door behind him. He went off, but when he returns, he finds his wife dead and a stranger in his home. No physical damage was done to the house."_

"So…?"

"_How did the stranger manage to enter the home?"_

"Well he must have had a key too, obviously."

Smaug snarled and Arya laughed.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Jeesh. Take a breath. Now, then… _So a man leaves and comes home to a locked house, wife dead, and stranger inside…_" She tapped her chin lightly, her brow furrowed in thought. "And the windows and doors weren't broken?"

"No."

"And he didn't pick the lock?"

"No."

"Did he ask the wife to let him in? Maybe she knew him."

"A _stranger._"

"A stranger to just the man or to both of them?"

"The question implies that the visitor is unfamiliar to both parties."

"Ah… I see…"

Arya sat and puzzled over the problem for a good while longer. She supposed it was time she conceded, as was the usual, nightly, procedure. She idly rubbed at her full stomach for a moment. _God, I feel like I swallowed a watermelon… I need to just get this over with and go to sleep. _

"I—"

"_You…_?"

She stared down at her bloated abdomen and her eyes widened. Images of Bard's wife and circular tummies flitted through her mind. Her lips cracked into a monstrous grin.

"She was pregnant?"

"What?"

"The wife! The woman!" Arya cried, excited. "She was pregnant when he left her! And then she died giving childbirth and the stranger is the baby!"

Smaug cracked one golden eye open to peer over at her. "Hmm… Very good."

Arya beamed. "Yes! I guess it's my turn to ask one now—"

"No."

Her brow furrowed. "No? What do you mean _no?_ I answered the riddle! And that means the game—"

"Is over."

"_What?!"_

Smaug once again closed his eyes. He nestled deeper into his hoard and huffed, sending a cloud of thick smoke into the air. "It is late. I have no desire to continue exchanging petty riddles. Go to sleep."

Arya stared back at him, mouth agape. "So… you're giving up?!"

The red dragon remained silent.

"Wait… Does that mean… that I _won?"_

He snorted. "I suppose if you deem victory by default a 'win,' then yes."

"Of course I consider it a win! Default is the sweetest win of all!" Arya cheered. "I can't believe it! You're actually letting me _beat _you!"

"Don't be absurd," Smaug scoffed. "I simply wish to go to bed—"

"I defeated a dragon at a game of riddles!"

"_Enough_," he finally snarled, baring his sharp canines in threat. "Go and take a walk to deflate your enlarged head. I cannot sleep through all your _noise."_

"You mean _the noise_ of me kicking your scaly behind?"

"_Go_."

"Fine, fine. I'll go 'take a walk' so you can get your beauty sleep."

Arya stood and began to trudge up the stairs. Smaug hummed contentedly at the sight and relaxed into the coins and gems, tail curling lightly around the bottom of the pile he was occupying.

"Do not get lost in the dark, little oaf. The hot air in your skull can only keep you warm for so long, and I have no intentions of coming to seek you out so that you do not freeze to death in the caverns."

"You're so charming. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"On occasion. Though they do not tend to be alive for very long after the fact."

Arya giggled and shook her head.

"Pleasant nightmares, you miserable, flying, lizard."

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Arya rubbed at the goose bumps on her arms with a light shudder.

It was chilly away from Smaug and the eternal heat he provided…

She had no intention of walking in circles until her satisfaction at out-riddling the dragon was worn away—she intended to keep that warm feeling of pride within her forever. She did, however, enjoy walking through the Lonely Mountain at night. It was so quiet—not that it wasn't always pretty silent… but this quiet was more of a peaceful one rather than from the fact that all the other occupants of the mountain were dead.

She stopped beneath that familiar, gaping, hole, and tilted her head back to smile up at the stars. She stretched her hand up high, as if reaching out to grab at them. They didn't seem so cold or far away as they had when she'd first been brought to the mountain… No—they seemed to be the perfect distance away.

Arya was about to turn away and begin trekking back to the hoard when her grey eyes caught on something dangling from the mouth of the void above.

Her muscles locked.

_The rope was back. _

She squinted. Arya could even make out the shape of someone scurrying down it. This person must have been who Fawke had ranted and raved about coming to his aid before Smaug had charred him to a crisp.

She squinted up at the new thief carefully shimmying down the rope, and scowled.

"_Seriously?! _Do you people never learn?"

Startled, the man swiveled to find the noise and lost his hold on the rope. He tried to right himself once more but couldn't find his grip. He plummeted to the ground—flailing all the while—and landed with a heavy _thud_ against the stone. The rope fell loose too and pooled in a clump at his feet.

Arya hoisted one of the large chunks of stone debris from the ground and into her hands before trotting over to the fallen man. He lay sprawled on the ground, groaning and slowly clenching and unclenching his fingers—as if trying to regain movement.

She glared down at him and lifted the stone high above her head. He looked up then and saw her looming over him with bitter exasperation in her eyes.

_And here we go again._

"No! Stop! Please!" he begged, lifting his arms over his head in defense. "I'm just looking for my brother. He came here a little while ago, _but he never_… Well, he never…" he trailed off with a shaky breath. Arya blinked and the man turned away, eyes downcast. "I just wanted to find him."

She stared down at him, scowl still firmly twisting her face. She flexed her fingers around her weapon. The intruder lifted his gaze to stare back, looking quite meek and sad.

"…He's dead, isn't he?"

Arya thought of the dark stains that Smaug's hellish downpour had left on the pillars and stone. She gripped the stone tighter.

"Of course he is."

The intruder's head fell. He was silent for a moment or two before opening his mouth to let out a single, shaky, laugh that sounded far more like the start of a sob.

"I don't know why I'm surprised. I knew… _I knew_ that there was no way he could survive in the Mountain with the dragon—particularly with the way he tended to… _behave_."

Arya snorted in agreement to that. The weight of the chunk was starting to make her arms shudder and ache.

The man lifted his head to stare at her with teary, green, eyes. "But I just… I let myself give in to hoping—even just a little bit—and I… I…"

Arya felt something lurch within her and her brow furrowed at the feeling. Was that… was that _guilt? Empathy? No!_ She whipped her head back and forth to clear it. Humanity was wicked! _He_ was wicked! He'd experienced an injustice just as she had, but _she_ hadn't been able to gripe about it! Why should _she_ sympathize with _him_ when no human had done so for her?! Had she not just come to terms with the fact that she had no kindred companions in the entire world minus the fire breather napping in the other room?

She let the stone fall with a heavy _boom_ that sent dust swirling into the air. The intruder flinched, petrified, and lifted his eyes to stare up at her.

That was it. This was over. She would go and wake Smaug, and he would come, and he would make sure this man met the same fate as his kin.

She turned and began to stomp away when the intruder again spoke, though it seemed he was more mumbling to himself than trying to communicate with her.

"We were all travelling this way, and when we got to Esgaroth, Fawke just got so… _excited_," he laughed softly. "The Lonely Mountain was actually in sight for the first time, and, well, he wanted it. That was always his downfall… He always just _wanted_ things. And he always tried to take them… So he snuck off during the night with the intent to enter the mountain while the rest of our group stayed back in Lake Town… _the idiot_…"

The mention of Lake Town brought a foul taste to her mouth.

_I would turn them all to ash._

She swiveled back to face him, storming back over to glower down at him.

"And how was it? _Esgaroth?_" she bit out spitefully. "Charming? Happy? Clean? Finally rid of all their woes?"

"Dreadful."

This perked her interest.

"Oh? How pleasant. I see getting rid of that 'witch' didn't solve a single one of their problems. That's nice to know."

He lifted his head.

"You know about her? The witch?"

"You could say that."

He sighed. "People were talking all about her back in Esgaroth… going on and on about how maybe the poor girl they tied out to a stake _wasn't_ a witch, or if she was, she hadn't been the one causing all their problems…"

_They were just figuring this out_ now? _And she'd been gone for how long? A month and half? Two maybe? It'd taken them _this long_ to realize they had done anything _wrong?

She grit her teeth.

"I mean, condemning some poor girl as a witch!" he scoffed. "Even if you decide to ignore the moral aspects of it, it's still just plain stupid!"

"That's what I was saying!"

"Wait…" he narrowed his green eyes at her in disbelief. "_You're_ the witch?"

"_I am not a fucking witch_!"

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry! Relax, please! I didn't mean to offend you!" he assured. "I just… I'm sorry."

"Relax? RELAX? I'll show you relaxed, you—wait… _what?_ You're _sorry?"_

He nodded timidly, still looking as if he was just _waiting_ for her to lunge forward and tear his heart out through his throat.

"You were wrongly condemned by your friends, neighbors, family, and then left to die… I can't even begin to imagine what that's like."

Her frown softened a bit, becoming less enraged and more sad.

"Yeah… It was_… pretty awful_."

"I mean… That's why you're here, isn't it?" he continued. "The dragon must have taken you with him rather than simply eating you… You must have caught his interest."

"Pretty much, yes…"

"What's your name?"

"Excuse me?"

The intruder grinned up at her. "May I know your name?"

"Oh. Sure."

"Well…?"

She had to bite her tongue to keep from immediately declaring that it was 'little oaf.'

"Arya. My name's Arya."

"_Arya_," he repeated. "That's a beautiful name, but strong at the same time. It's very honorable."

She felt the beginnings of a tiny smile curling her lips. "And what's your name?"

"Lance."

"Lance…" She let it roll off her tongue, and she decided she liked it. Though she liked 'Smaug' more. "Your name is really pretty too—I mean. Pretty for a man. I mean…" Arya sighed and Lance laughed. "It's a nice name."

"Thank you, Miss Arya."

She grinned.

Her mind berated her, telling her _over and over_ that humanity had already betrayed her once. It had left her at a stake for dead, and the only one who had been willing to rescue her was an enormous, fire breathing, dragon. She shouldn't take pity on this man. She shouldn't feel happy that he took pity on her too. Humanity was bad. He was bad. She would be hurt. _Humanity was bad. _

_Hurt me once, shame on you. Hurt me twice…_

"You should leave… before Smaug wakes up."

He reached for the pile of rope at his feet, idly twisting a bit between his fingers. "I don't know how that would be possible at the moment…"

Arya stared up at the only way in or out of the mountain. She turned to glare in the direction of Smaug's chamber and then to Lance, and then back to the hoard. Finally, she bent down and offered him a hand.

"Come on. I'll hide you in the library. It shouldn't be too cold in there, and Smaug never goes there."

"Are you sure? The dragon won't be mad at you?"

Arya bit her lip and hauled him to his feet. "As long as he doesn't find you, you'll be okay."

He smiled sweetly at her, brilliant green eyes crinkling in the corners. Arya felt the slightest bit of heat in her cheeks and she smiled back.

"Thank you, Miss Arya."

…_shame on me._

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**Oh, dear. What are you doing, Arya?  
In a bit of a rush for this one, so let me know if there were any horrid errors. Thanks :D**

**See you all next week. **


	9. Be the Quisling

**Oh, Arya, you silly girl. What are you getting yourself into?**

**It's fun reading everyone's predictions about Lance. I debated for a while over whether or not to give you guys a hint in regards to what will happen with this new intruder. I even came up with a really convoluted one that I thought would have been perfect because it actually required research and detective work, but I decided that it's more fun to keep secrets. **

**T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T**

Dragon's Bait  
Chapter 9—Be the Quisling

"This way."

"Could you slow down a bit?" Lance panted, leaning up against the wall to support himself. "I nearly plummeted to my death only a few minutes ago. Landing on hard rock isn't all that easy on the joints and I'm pretty sure my bones aren't too happy either—"

"Well, either you start moving a little faster than a handicapped tortoise, or Smaug comes along and gobbles you up. Make your choice."

Lance shuddered and pushed himself forward. Arya glanced back at him with a smirk.

"That's what I thought."

He ran a hand through his mused, brown, hair. "I'd rather irritate a few broken ribs than a gigantic, fire breathing, dragon."

Arya laughed. "And that, good sir, is where we have very different mindsets."

Lance peered over her at as he continued to hobble along. He observed her silently and Arya glanced away, focusing intently on the dark hallway ahead.

"You're a very peculiar young woman."

She snorted. "So I've been told."

"It's not a bad thing."

Arya hummed and turned sharply around the corner of the hall. "It's only a little further."

He jogged a bit to catch up with her, gate awkward and sloppy as if each step was incredibly difficult.

"I'm serious."

"If your ribs are really broken, you shouldn't be running."

Lance sighed and slowed to a lethargic trudging. When the familiar 'clop' of his footsteps disappeared, Arya turned back to him with an irritated grumble. He was leaning up against the wall again, sweating and breathing like a fat hog on a summer afternoon. He looked absolutely miserable.

He glanced up when he noticed that she'd stopped.

"I'm sorry. I just… No. I'm fine." He forced himself off the wall and took another few shaky steps forward. "I'm coming."

Arya shook her head with a sigh and moved to his side. She pulled his arm over her shoulders and took on some of his weight. Lance looked away, chagrined that he was weak enough that he needed be carted away like some damsel in distress.

"…thank you," he mumbled.

"Not a problem. We can move faster this way anyways."

Slowly, the pair began once again to move towards the library. Arya huffed irritably under the extra bulk and adjusted her grip on him.

"God, you're heavy."

"Apologies…"

Arya had never thought a simple journey to the library could take so _long._ Perhaps it was the dead weight, or perhaps it was the dark, or perhaps it was her own thoughts, but it took far too long to get to the large chamber. When she and her companion finally reached their destination, she walked him to the furthest corner and helped him to the ground. She trotted over to one of the cloth tapestries that she'd spared from being dragged back with her to the hoard, and ripped it off the wall. She brought it back to Lance and tossed it in his lap.

"It's a little stiff, but it should keep you warm enough during the night."

He wrapped it around his shoulders with a grateful smile.

"Thank you."

She stared down at him, puzzling and puzzling. What did he need? Food and water obviously. And access to the washroom. Candles? Clothing? Another tapestry? Could he read, or would she need to find something else to keep him occupied? How long would it take before he was feeling well enough to walk around on his own? What then? Could she hide him away forever? Would Smaug smell him?

_Was this what Smaug had felt like when he'd first brought her back with him to the Lonely Mountain?_

She'd never had a pet before (or guest, she supposed, would be a more appropriate term), and it seemed like a great deal of work. She ran a hand through her auburn hair with a scowl. She was never going to get away with this.

"I'll be back tomorrow at night with food and water."

He nodded. "Tomorrow night. Understood. If I'm asleep when you arrive, please wake me."

She frowned. Shouldn't he be griping about the fact that he had to go a whole day without food or water? Or that he had no idea where the restroom was? Or that he was being forced to dwell in the corner of a dark and dank library? She knew that she would have been livid about being forced into such conditions. Of course, he _had_ brought this upon himself in a way. If he'd never tried to enter the Lonely Mountain, then he wouldn't be in this predicament! But… But…

He smiled up at her, brushing wisps of brown hair out of his eyes.

"Thank you again, Miss Arya." He glanced to the side, looking a bit embarrassed. "I owe you my eternal gratitude for taking pity on me… I don't know what I would have done without your help."

She gulped and looked to the ceiling.

"Died a horrible, fiery, death most likely."

He laughed. "Yes. That."

"Mmhmm..."

"Goodnight, Miss Arya. And thank you."

Arya turned on her heel and made her escape. Once she was safely hidden behind one of the towering bookshelves, she let out a heavy sigh that seemed to come from the deepest recesses of her chest and shook her head sharply before moving out of her hiding spot.

She paced around the library several times and stood by the doorway, peering every way possible, to make sure that if Smaug _did_ peek his head into the room, he wouldn't be able to see her guest. With that, she nodded lightly (as if to tell herself that this was fine) and headed out. She would have to stop by the washroom on the way back to the hoard and scrub her skin clean to be certain that Smaug's powerful nose would not be able to pick up Lance's scent… She rubbed at her arms with a shiver. It suddenly felt a lot colder…

Arya glanced back at the grand doors of the library that she had just slammed behind her with an echoing _bang_.

It was strange to have someone else here with her—another human. She wasn't sure if she liked it or not… but she was certain Smaug wouldn't approve of it. It was strange, almost like a kind of crazy thrill, thinking she had a secret—something of her own. Lance seemed a lot more pleasant than his obnoxious brother. She began to ponder over what would happen. He couldn't stay here forever. It wasn't possible…

With a frown, she turned and headed to the washroom.

T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T

Smaug had been fast asleep when she'd returned to the hoard and Arya had been incredibly thankful for the dragon's lethargy. The last thing she needed was to have to explain why she'd bathed twice in one day. Though she supposed she could have always easily said she'd fallen in the dirt, or wet her pants, or something else equally as mortifying, she knew that she would have had trouble successfully fibbing to him. Those golden eyes of his could see right through any of her poor attempts at lying.

And that meant she needed to improve her acting. A lot.

The next day, everything proceeded as normal. Smaug brought her daily meal, they played their game of riddles, she lost, and he burrowed into his gold with a contented huff of grey smoke. While he snored, Arya snuck off with the remainder of the food. She grabbed two empty vases on the way—one to fill with water and one to be used as a makeshift chamber pot.

She handed off the leftovers and vases to Lance and scurried out as quickly as possible. She stopped once again in the washroom to rub her skin raw with as much soap as possible before returning to the hoard to sleep. This ritual continued day in and out for at least a week.

Each night, she brought Lance food and he thanked her with a sweet smile.

Each day her returning smile grew a bit wider.

Each day she prayed that Smaug wouldn't notice the increased amount of time she spent away from the hoard. Or that she slept late into the day because her nightly conversations with Lance seemed to keep growing longer and longer. Or that she always stunk of dwarfish soap when she at last returned.

"What's tall, and old, and weak, and bold? What smells like cheeses and does as it pleases?"

Arya glanced over at Lance from where she lay, relaxing against the cool stone of the library floor. She readjusted her hands that were folded behind her head and grinned. "No idea."

He sighed and shook his head.

"Damn. I was hoping you could tell me."

Arya snickered.

"Where did you even hear something like that?"

"I'm not sure. I think my mind just kind of…" He made an awkward gesture with his hand.

"Gave birth to it?"

"Exactly."

The two laughed quietly under their breath.

Lance was fine—no broken ribs, or legs, or anything in between. He could easily move around on his own and was more than ready to leave the Mountain. He wasn't hurt. He had no more need of any special treatment. It was wrong to keep him here. It was wrong for him _to be here_ at all. Arya should have been looking for a way to help him escape… but she couldn't force herself to do so.

"What's your favorite riddle?"

"Hmm?"

Lance propped himself up—chin resting in the palms of his hands. "What's the best riddle you've ever heard? You must know some wonderful ones—you know—from living with a dragon and such."

"_There is a story that a man and not a man, saw and did not see a bird and not a bird, perched on a branch and not a branch, and hit him and did not hit him with a rock and not a rock."_

"Huh?"

"That's my favorite one…" she hummed. "That's my favorite riddle."

"What's the answer to it?" he asked curiously.

Arya stared up at the ceiling, eyes catching on some dust floating just above her head. "I don't know."

"It's your favorite riddle, but you don't know the answer to it?" Lance frowned, confused. She stretched her hand upwards from where she lay to let her fingers twirl along with the dancing particles.

"Riddles without answers are the best kind. They make you keep thinking."

"But there must be an answer to it. Right?"

"I guess…" She closed her hand around the dust, making a tight fist. "It's easier to just put it in the back of your mind."

Lance hummed in agreement, bright green eyes a bit sadder than normal. "Easier, yes… But I'm not sure that it's what's best."

Arya released the dust into back into the air. She wasn't quite certain that they were talking about riddles anymore.

"I'm not so sure either."

T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T

Another day came and went, and it was once again time to head to the library.

Arya straightened her nest carefully—organizing the multitude of random baubles and trinkets scattered around. When she was finished, she stood and began her usual journey out of the hoard.

"Where are you running off to, _little oaf?_"

Her heart stopped in her chest.

Arya turned to face Smaug slowly. One, great, golden, eye was cracked open and leering over at her. She gulped and rubbed nervously at her arm.

"T-To the washroom."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

The dragon leisurely stood, tail whipping back and forth as he did so. "And why would you be heading off to the washroom at this hour?"

"I always go around now."

"I have noticed."

"Ah…" she trailed off, fidgeting uncomfortably. Smaug lumbered over, the ocean of treasures rippling with every step he took.

"_Why are you heading to the washroom at this hour_?"

"…I stink."

He lowered his massive head to align with her own much smaller one, and inhaled. After a moment, he raised his head back into the air and she craned her neck to stare up at him.

"No. I don't believe you do."

"R-Really?" she spluttered. "Because I can smell it pretty ea—"

"Hmm. Your natural scent is much more appealing than the offensive perfume that dwarf soap leaves on your skin."

"So _you_ think."

The dragon snorted. "Do not bother going."

"Hey, if I feel ripe then I have every right to—"

His spiked tail constricted around her leg, firmly holding her in place. "You will not go to the washroom tonight."

"Oh _come on—_"

"Are you experiencing your monthly cycle?"

Her mouth fell open.

"What? _No!_"

Smaug snorted. "Though humans and dragons are indeed very different, females of every species appear to exhibit the same distasteful change in mood during menstruation. And as of the past week or so, you have been exhibiting a rather _unpleasant_ personality."

"I'm not on my period!"

His tail's grip on her tightened and it slowly pulled her closer to his scaled side.

"Then stay put."

"But—"

"_Stay_."

Arya sighed irritably, but relaxed in his hold. As much as she hated being given orders like a dog, she knew that she obviously wasn't going to be getting anywhere anytime soon… Even his tail was so much stronger than she was… After a short while, she twisted around to look up at the dragon holding her captive. She reached out and tapped his side lightly with one finger.

"Smaug?"

He hummed in reply, eyes already closed tight and smoke gently rising from his nostrils.

"What's the answer to that riddle you told me? The one about the man and not a man, and the bird and not a bird?"

He opened one eye the slightest bit to peer down at her. "Why the desire to know? Particularly at this moment of all times?"

She shrugged. "I just want to know the answer."

The dragon stared at her in silence for a minute or two before turning away to bury his head into the gold. "I believe it is something you should figure out on your own."

Arya's face fell. With a depleted sigh, she curled into his scaly side. She thought of Lance. She thought of Lake Town. She thought of herself. She thought of all the decisions that she had yet to make regarding those three things…

"I had a bad feeling you would say that."

**T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T**

**Much stuff. Much chaos. Much wow.**

**Doge is ruining my vocabulary. **

**Either way, I hope it was enjoyable. Now that Arya has someone else with her, she's not sure how to let him go. She knows she doesn't want to, but she knows she has to. Just like she knows that she still has to deal with Lake Town and with all the horrible yuckiness building up inside her. **

'**til next week!**


End file.
